All her parents seem to do is argue and all she wants is an escape. Alum Mundum. Preoccupied, they don’t notice the alteration in their daughter as she hides away. Her bedroom, her sanctuary, that comforting place immersed in silence, away from the uncertain world of trying to match distorted noises with the right people or machines.
She doesn’t always hear their shouting. The volume setting on her hearing aids can thankfully be switched off as well as on. Even with the absence of sound clouded expressions, staccato movements are enough to gauge the mood. Mugs of tea obscure mouths; wine glasses share partially-transparent secrets; they talk behind their hands to stop knowing eyes read their lips. And their finger gestures paint words unfamiliar from the sign language she was taught.
Something has to change. But words queue up in her throat and get lost in the limbo between thought and voice.
Steeling her resolve she decides to take action, raiding her money box to stalk the desolate high street. Everything she needs is in the local pound shop – green, brown, blue and gold paints. Tin foil, cardboard and pva glue. The bakery on the provides the egg boxes and before long they line the ceiling, held in place by the stapler she liberated from school.
Rolling landscapes surround her, framed by a castle with ivory towers, beneath a star filled sky. Pixie dust dots her white duvet, and regal gold adorns the furniture.
When they finally notice her absence, its been three days, the phone calls from school illuminating their ignorance. The door opens and she looks up, still in a haze and hears their arguing stop as they cross the threshold into her bedroom.
Open mouths expose shiraz-stained tongues suspended like stomped-out leather shoe soles.
Now they see the same thing, all three of them a mute delegation amongst the rolling landscapes in her silent world of fairy tales.
About the author:
Neil Sehmbhy is an author who delves into the worlds of Sci-Fi and Fantasy.
Follow him on twitter @neilsehmbhy
On pinterest at http://www.pinterest.com/neilseh/