Silence

By Michael White

if i can count every grain of sand in the ocean of the beach, we made a trip to twice a week.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael D White
• Release date: Jul 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201745417

Michael White

Ex-drummer, Ex-software author and Ex-flares wearer Michael White was born and lives in the northwest of England. In a previous life he was the author of many text adventure games that were popular in the early 1980's. Realising that the creation of these games was in itself a form of writing he has since made the move into self-publishing, resulting in many short stories and novellas. Covering an eclectic range of subjects the stories fall increasingly into that "difficult to categorise" genre, causing on-going headaches for the marketing department of his one man publishing company, Eighth Day Publishing.Having accidentally sacked his marketing director (himself) three times in the last two years, he has now retired to a nice comfortable room where, if he behaves himself, they leave him to write in peace.In his spare time (!) Michael likes to listen to all kinds of music and is a big fan of Steven Moffat, whether he likes it or not.Michael is currently working on several new projects and can be contacted at the links [e-mail], or via my own website on http://mikewhiteauthor.wordpress.com, or via twitter on @mikewhiteauthor.

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Michael D White

Copyright © Michael D White

Copyright © 2022 by Michael White.

All rights reserved. No part of this book. may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical

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without written permission from The author, except for the use of Briefing quotations in a book review.

Michael D White

177 sw Michael Drive

Lake City, Florida 32024

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Special Thanks

To all the people that inspired me to write this book

and to my friends who always believed in me

Hank Maly, Nancy, Justin, Tommy White my big brother, James White my twin .

Forward

Falling in love may seem like a metaphor or a dream that would never come true. Falling in love sometimes can be an impossible task just beyond your grasp. Have you ever closed your eyes and fallen in love with someone that seems just out of your reach? If you have! then you know what it feels like. But What If the Words escaped you and your voice and words were never spoken to that person you love. What if all you had left was your pain and SILENCE?..

Silence

1

We were a funny pair, you and I. Always bickering and shoving and snatching, but also always with each other.

We'd bring the roof down with our screaming, but it was still under the same roof, yeah? We were that attached to one another.

Maybe it was because the two of us were very much alike as kids? Impatient, unsociable, and very picky when it came to making friends. So, really, all we had were each other. I guess, in a way, you were my first friend.

I wonder, even now, if that ever occurred to you—if it ever occurs to you.

But I doubt you frequent the path down the memory lane of our childhood as often as I do.

You're here, in the present, living in the moments that come before you while I try, try, try and fail to bring my heart back from there, where I'd lost it to you in the past.

And it is in the past that I live. Because of that, I'm fairly certain you no longer remember the moments between us that are still a priority in my mind.

I remember this one time our mothers wanted to meet up and hang out somewhere, bringing us along to that huge new mall they'd just opened—the one with all the branded stores, impressive food court, and a massive cinema that had twenty or so screens.

I was five then, I think—give or take a few months. And you—you were about to turn nine in another two months. I kind of like the four year age gap between us; not too much, not too little. Four was perfect. Is perfect. Will always be perfect.

I want corn on the cob, you were telling your mum. We were entering the food court after watching Peter Pan. The ending of the movie made me sad; I wanted Pan to stay.

That was then, Martin. I understand Pan's decision now.

I'm no longer sad he chose to fly away, but if the script could be rewritten and the movie remade, I would want him to stay despite all his reasoning.

Because not growing up sounds nice.

But growing old with someone sounds nicer.

Martin, there's no corn on the cob here, your mother, Vivian, was saying. How about a burger and fries? I'll even ask them to add extra cheese to the bun.

No, you shook your head adamantly. And then you folded your arms across your chest. A little spoiled back then, you were.

I don't remember how I felt all that much about you making a fuss; whether I was hungry, tired, annoyed we weren't ordering yet, irritated we weren't seated at a table yet. I don't remember me being there even, Martin. I really don't.

But if I have this memory, it's because I was there right? Then why can I not recall how I felt? How did I react? What I wanted to eat?

Then again, that says a lot doesn't it? Thinking back now, I'm pretty sure I felt annoyed at you. Frustrated. Angry, even. Because I also remember you throwing this huge tantrum and us having to leave the food court and go looking for a diner or restaurant or someplace that served those godforsaken corn on the cob you seemed to be craving so much.

Yes. I was definitely angry at you.

It takes time, though, for me to recall my emotions, my words, my thoughts. And sometimes nothing on my part is concrete and solid. Sometimes, I'm just filling in the gaps and holes with the most likely possibility.

But I have to fill in nothing when it comes to you.

Martin, there are no gaps or holes that need filling-up with possibilities when it comes to you.

I remember, Martin. I remember.

This heart of mine does not let me forget.

2

Martin.

Martin, do you remember?

Do you remember that time the Scream movies were becoming irritatingly popular? Do you remember those stupid masks that were available in almost every store? There was this particular one that had a sort of pump behind the mask. And each time the pump was squeezed, something akin to blood would spread throughout the face of the mask, beneath its plastic exterior.

Red ink, or some sort of liquid, probably. Definitely not actual blood, that I know.

Yeah, those. You used to have one of those then.

I hated it. Hated hated hated it.

I loathed it even.

It terrified me.

And because of that, you only found more purpose to keep using the awful mask.

I used to be lazy when it came to taking a body wash at night, before going to sleep. (I still am, by the way.) And mum used to have a time trying to get me undressed and into the washroom.

But that one night, she made me a bargain. If I was washed and in my pajamas before nine, then I'd be allowed to watch a cartoon of my choice before I needed to get in bed. It was a school night, I think. But that made no difference in whether we stayed over at your place or not. After all, we did go to the same school.

And so