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Prison of Silence

Trany Klein

They called me stubborn. They called me stupid. They called me mute. But I would not talk. I could not talk. They say that silence is golden, but to me silence was a prison. It was a prison that lurked at the threshold of my home, captured me as soon as I stepped out the door, and followed me around wherever I went.

Wednesday, April 04, 2012

swimming pool Oftentimes it seemed as though people thought that I didn’t really exist. My classmates would pass me on the streets with not so much as a nod. My teachers would skip over my name by attendance as if my very name was contaminated. Oh, how I yearned for a smile, for a friendly greeting, for a compliment. I may not be able to talk in public, but that doesn’t mean I can’t listen!

At some point in high school things changed somewhat. No, I didn’t start talking, but for the first time in my life I had a friend, a real friend. Her name was Esty, and when she joined our class for ninth grade she instantly took a liking to me. Why Esty would want to befriend me, Mute Mirel, the girl who didn’t talk, was beyond me — but you know, I couldn’t ask her why. That would require talking.

 

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