The Silent

I don’t remember the silencing. The day when sound was stripped from our world. I am told, however, that it began with an echo. It didn’t hurt at first. No, at first it was so quiet that those who heard it wondered if they were hearing anything at all. That was until the echo changed to a ringing so loud it felt like your head would split open.

And then everything was quiet.

People stared in horror at family members, friends, and neighbors as mouths opened and closed to form words they knew. Only to find that they couldn’t speak. Nor could they hear. Those who heard the echo were deafened. And their voices turned down forever.

There were soundless screams and cries as people panicked. Others sat still, processing what had happened. The motionless were the ones who noticed the enemy trucks swarming in. Noticed, panicked, shouted into the gaping quiet, but would never be heard.

The enemy swooped down on the vulnerable with guns and heavy machinery- killing anyone who ran or tried to fight back. With their backs to walls, the silent defended themselves as best they could. But the enemy was too strong, and the people eventually suffered a great defeat.

The government was overthrown, the president assassinated. The enemy had taken over the world in a blink. And no one saw or heard it coming. The silencing, as it turns out, was the enemy’s greatest weapon. To make us weak, they took away the one thing that gave us a fighting chance. Our voice. They silenced the world so they could easily manipulate us. And it worked.

That was more than 100 years ago. And it was only a foreshadow of the hardships we would come to face under this regime. They force us to labor for them- constructing buildings, harvesting crops, building up the empire from which they rule. They control where we sleep, what we eat and do, and force us to live in small houses within overcrowded camps. We still don’t understand how they did this, exactly.

But we have no hope for a better world.

We do not speak unless it’s with our hands. Those who didn’t know how to sign before all of this quickly learned ways to communicate. If there’s anything human beings are good at, it’s adapting to circumstance. The enemy allowed this, seeing that some form of communication was necessary to do their bidding. They even learned the language themselves.

Any children that are born are given the silencing treatment. They are put inside a room where they’re forced to hear the echo, and then the ringing until their cries turn silent. Some babies don’t make it out of that room, only to be found later in a trash bin- stiff and blue with blood-stained ears. I’ve never seen this, but my father did. He was newly assigned to garbage emptying when he witnessed it- a pile of little bodies overlapping in a waste bin. My father was a strong man. But I lost him to a twisted bed sheet shortly after this discovery.

There is no hope for a better world.

I lost him a month ago.

They don’t allow us to mourn, burning the bodies as soon as they’re still. So I silently mourn him with my mother in the brief moments we have together- when we aren’t working. She works in the fabric factory, stitching together uniforms, blankets, gloves- anything the enemy orders her to. I work in the junkyard, sorting rubbish for burning or salvaging while the enemy watches carefully.

Like they are now.

Lost in thought, I didn’t realize that I’d fallen behind on sorting. I glance up at the enemy member on watch duty, his head is turned in another direction. I sigh in relief and return to work. My fingers graze a gloved hand causing me to flinch.

Sorry. I sign.

It’s Nameless. That isn’t his name, I know. But as long as I’ve been working with him, we’ve never exchanged names. He stands so tall compared to me, with brown curls that just lick the nape of his neck. And he’s so handsome, though he has to be older than me by a few years. Nameless is the type to keep to himself, but every once in a while, we conversate. There isn’t much time for communication with all the work we’re forced to do.

Nameless looks at me and simply nods before returning to work. I notice, however, that he picked up the slack for me while I was lost in thought. He must have noticed me slowing down. Guilty, I sign sorry, again. And then, thank you.

He looks like he’s about to respond when a loud clang sounds from the furnace behind. The sound startles me so much I nearly jerk my entire body in its direction. I catch myself, hoping no one noticed. Dropping my head slightly, I glance around the room. Everyone’s eyes are on their tasks, and the guard is shouting something about the furnace. It’s only Nameless whose eyes are fixed on me.

My heart is hammering in my chest. He knows. I know he does. I almost sign to him in panic, to plead with him. Before I can, he turns away and resumes his work. Not wanting to draw any suspicions, I do the same, praying and praying that he will not tell.

He knows I can hear.

When night has fallen, and we are cleared to return to camp, we leave the junkyard in a horde. There are so many of us I wonder sometimes how the enemy is able to keep us under their control. I shake the thought from my mind, remembering what happened to those who tried.

We have no hope. Hope is dangerous.

A hand on my arm makes me gasp. It’s Nameless. I hadn’t noticed that he was walking beside me.

Sorry if I scared you. He signs.

I nod, unable to push from my mind what happened in the junkyard. I brace myself. Maybe he’ll threaten me? Use it against me and force me to do his bidding like the enemy? But then, why would he? He’s always been so nice.

As though he can read my thoughts he quickly signs, You don’t have to be afraid. I just want to talk.

We are quickly approaching the camp. Talking to him is a risk, especially if he knows. But I’d rather know what he’s planning to do with the information.

I nod my head once, and he takes my arm to pull me from the crowd. We’re in the camp now, and there are so many people walking in different directions that no one notices us drift away. He leads me to his little house. It’s a small square box like the rest of them, just big enough for bare necessities. The enemy forced us to construct these even though there were perfectly good houses and apartments still erect. They gave us little so we’d rely on them even more.

Nameless pulls me inside and closes the door behind us. Soon, the guards will be knocking on each door and taking a peek inside to make sure everyone is accounted for.

Nameless is looking at me with an unreadable expression.

Sit? He signs.

I shake my head. No, thank you.

We’ve worked together a while...sorry, I don’t know your name.

I don’t know yours either. I sign, hesitant. But then I tell him, Lydia.

That’s pretty. He smiles. I’m Leo.

Nice to finally be introduced, Leo.

Sorry. His smile begins to fade. Names feel personal. It’s hard getting close to anyone.

I can relate. I try to limit who I communicate with. It’s just easier that way in the world we live in. But I’ve worked with Nameless- Leo for two years now. Even though we didn’t exchange names, I felt like he could be a friend. Can he be?

You’re right. I tell him.

He looks at me for a long moment, like he's assessing me. Can you read?

It isn’t a strange question. The ability to read is rare these days. Most books were burned when the enemy first took over and, while they never outlawed reading, many people gave up on learning in light of everything else. The enemy orders us around with simple signs that we can understand.

No, I answer. Can you?

Leo nods, looking almost hopeful. He then walks over to his bed and, lifting the corner of his mattress, pulls up a loose piece of wood. When he turns back to me he’s holding a small, golden heart-shaped locket in his hands. It’s beautiful.

I tell him as much, and he smiles.

It belonged to my mother, but it was given to her by a stranger. Leo is careful to hold tight to the locket as he signs. He then holds it out to me. I take it, running my fingers along the smooth, ornate metal. I trace the outline of something. It looks like a word.

My mother used to tell me that.

I look up to him. What does it say?

Can you keep a secret?

I nearly drop the necklace. What do you mean?

I’ve never… he hesitates. You can hear!

My heart skips a beat and I take a step back.

No, it’s okay! He signs quickly. I…I heard the furnace too.

I look at him in disbelief. You can hear?

He nods.

My heart hammering in my chest, I rush over to where I see a small cleaning bucket. I slam it down as loud as I can. Did you hear that? I ask him.

He nods frantically, a smile spilling across his lips.

I feel tears welling in my eyes. And when I look into Leo’s, they’re glassy. I run into his arms, feeling a weight lighten inside of me. He can hear! For so long I’ve been careful. Training myself to ignore the noise. There’s so much noise! No one knew but my father, who helped me when the sound interrupted the silence. I was only eight. I thought I was alone.

Still in Leo’s arms, I pull away and look at him. There is a faint glow from a dying light on the ceiling. His eyes are beautiful brown shadows looking down on me. My heart settles.

I know no one else who can hear, I tell him. How is it possible? And why can’t anyone else?

I don’t know how it’s possible. But we aren’t the only ones. Somewhere there are others.

Leo gently grabs my hand, the one holding the locket, and runs his finger over the little heart. My mother told me to save this for when I could find someone else…like me.

What does it say? I ask him again.

He smiles. Taking the locket, he opens it with strong hands marked from years of hard labor. He pulls out a little, folded piece of paper.

I take in a deep breath as a sweetness fills my ears.

It cuts off abruptly as Leo closes the locket, but not before an unfamiliar warmth spreads through me. What was that? I ask, breathless.

It’s called music. It plays when the locket opens.

That was beautiful, I sign, wiping tears away.

He runs a finger gently over my cheeks. It is.

I look at him patiently as he unfolds the paper. Tell me, I sign.

It says, There is strength in silence. They will not see us coming. Be ready.

Seeing Leo sign the words, I want them to be true.

This world so easily breaks you- so dark it can make you twist yourself around in your own sheet till you’re blue. But these few words somehow make the silence a little less deafening.

An unfamiliar feeling spreads through me.

And on the outside of the locket? My fingers remember tracing something on the back. What does it say?

Leo turns it over. Smiles. Hope.