*Please Note* This is the part where it's a self-harm scene. You can skip that part if you want to, the rest of the story will still make sense if you do.
I wander out of the doctor's office with no smile on my face. It's lasted 5 years, why can't they do something to help me? I've given up numerous things after he died, including my voice. Why should I speak to anyone but him? I've given up trying to speak and began identifying myself as mute. At one point, I bribed a doctor to write a note saying that I broke my foot and I handed the note to my teacher so that I wouldn't be bothered to walk back up to that board the day after the funeral. I've stopped everything I've held dear to me, my poetry, and my writing. Without words coming from my mouth, they've never been able to flow onto the paper.
I go back home and my mother hugs me. She's been struggling with finances, so we moved to a small apartment down within another school zone. A new school, another note, and more struggles as the other kids relentlessly bite at me for what I became. My mom kisses me on the forehead and says, "Sweetie, I got you some new clothes for your new school!" I nod my head and in turn, use my sign language to speak to my mother. Have you thought about homeschooling yet?
"You know I can't homeschool you, sweetie, I have work. Besides, this new school is gonna be amazing! The principal is so nice." I stare at the floor and nod my head walking up to my room. That was the sign that the conversation was over and I don't want to talk anymore.
I walk into my room and try once again to get my silent screams on that paper, just one piece of poetry. Just one more attempt at trying to tell someone what I've been hiding for those 5 years. Nothing comes to mind as I rip the paper into shreds, no emotion showing on my face. Might as well get some sleep, my words and pen were getting me nowhere.
~~~~~~~~~~~
I wake up to a bright, sunny day. Loads of bull "sunny days" are. Always acting as if the day was so perfect. Well, life doesn't work that way, and days are never perfect. I wake up and spy my favorite dark clothing that I love to cover myself in. I first rush towards the shower room, I might as well get it over with before my mom comes up to my room.
(This next paragraph has the self-harm scene in it)
I turn on the shower, relaxing as the cool water draws over my skin and the droplets fall down in tiny little streams. I cover it in soap, watching as the foam of it slowly wipes away all evidence of any sort of endeavor I did so yesterday. I went on to my final task. Where is it? I finally spotted it, the lights of the small space gleaming off of its shiny surface. She wouldn't know. I take the razor, and use the blade over my wrist. Slicing through the skin as a knife is to a loaf of bread. The red color spills over the wound, and down with the droplets it goes into the drain. One. Two. Three. Four. "Michael? Where are you? Breakfast is ready!" I act fast, washing up the last of the wounds, no matter how much the pain is the same amount of relief flows through my body. I turn off the shower, take a towel from the front, and cover myself with it, hiding the fresh wounds behind my back. "Michael what's taking so lon-" and she bustles into the room. "Oh dear I'm sorry, I didn't know you were taking a shower. My bad, I'll just let you change clothes."
(It's over, you can peek now)
My face remains emotionless for the time she was there but as soon as she leaves I began crying. I collapse on the floor the tears streaming down my face as fast as they can go. I realize the time and the minimal amount I had left to catch the bus. I wipe away the tears, put on that same face of no emotion and throw on my clothes. I go downstairs, barely take a few bites of my meal, and run to catch the bus.
I made it just in time with the bus driver smiling at me. I don't smile back and slump in the back corner like usual. This school wouldn't be any different from my old one. When I get there, I walk up to the front gate with still no emotion showing on my face. I ran into a friendly-looking girl with brown hair and brown eyes to match with the color of her hair. "Hello! Are you a new student? My name's Skye!" She extends a hand out as a form of greeting but I push it away and walk off into the school ignoring her cry of, "Woah! RUDE!"
I walk into a dimly lit room containing the nametag of the principal. "Are you Michael? I apologize for the faint light, our school board doesn't seem to care about the lights of the school, any notes you have to give to me to put in your file before I give you your schedule and send you off to class?" I silently handed her the note the doctor had given me the day before. It was worth $5, but he made me pay a good $10 before he finally let me off with the note and allowed me the freedom of no speech. Normally, the doctor is supposed to not provide such a note and let the teacher try to get me to start talking. However, doctors are quite corrupted these days.
She peers over the note, nods her head and places it into my file. "I'll let all the teachers know about it, all right?" She hands me a paper copy of something and nods her head at me. I look at my schedule to understand the rooms a little better. Room 875, it read, homeroom. The room I was in was 873, so my room must have been just across the hall or right next to it. I found the room rather quickly and walked in just as the bell rang. I took a seat at any random desk hoping those that came in wouldn't complain that they were sitting there.
By luck, no one commented on me being present in their seat, meaning I must have taken an empty one. "Alright, class, nice to see you! We have a new student today! Michael Raiza? Mind coming up here and introducing yourself?" I realize that there was no escaping the introduction and so I decided to show the class once and for all that I wouldn't speak. I walk up to the front and begin waving my hands in the structure of sign language. "Ah, so you're mute. Okay, class, Michael said that his full name is Michael. He also says that he enjoys playing some video games. Does anyone have any questions for Michael?" A boy in the first row raises his hand. "Yes, Jax?"
"Why is he mute? Is it like, from birth?" I sign language the word 'no' and the teacher understood.
"It's not."
"How then?"
"He doesn't really know. Anyone have other questions?" No one did. As I was walking back to the seat that I had found, my long sleeve caught on a student's desk. It was just high enough for someone to notice the cuts on my wrist. I'm sure no students noticed, and I was pretty sure the teacher didn't either. It was like any normal day, we just went over a few announcements about the school and began planning some possible activities the school could celebrate. I wasn't so certain nobody saw when after class, the teacher said, "No, you wait here Michael."