Silent Sonnets: Chapter One

You'd think it was a quiet city. No one spoke, except the Empire of course, but noise still blared. Even though we couldn't produce sound, we had all learned to write when we were little, with frequent tests over our choice of poetry, fictional stories, or non-fictional stories. My choice was poetry, though occasionally, I'd attempt to write those novels. Usually, I'd fail, or just give up and begin to admire some poet, Shakespeare for example, practically drooling over the old fellow.

"From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory..."

His Sonnet 1 led me to read the entire book of sonnets, all the way up to Sonnet 154, being the last poem in that book, which I had finished in less than a week, I might add. After that, I was addicted. One of my favorite quotes emanated from his very lips, "Love's fire heats water, water cools not love." Brilliant, William!

Anyway, this town, with its tall, eminent buildings that seem to touch the sky compared to other buildings, doesn't ever have enough, according to Mom. She thinks, though, that the Empire just completely withholds everything from the townsfolk, which, honestly, is a probability.

Our house is one that we don't own. We get to stay in the apartment, only because the owners love our family's poetry. Mom never lets Raylene and I see hers. She says they're "special."

Raylene is only 7, but she is so intelligent, you'd think she was at least 11. She tells me I'm her hero, which doesn't bother me. She's my best friend. I'd beat anyone who tried to hurt her; in fact, she's what worries me most. One day, Mom was telling me, through writing of course, how stressed she was from work and in the middle of her sentence, Raylene's sweet, soft slur interceded, "Sonnet!" Immediately, I flew across the room to her crying frame, worried senseless. She knew I couldn't ask her what was wrong, so she went ahead and explained her tears. "I get the surgery tonight."

My eyes had gone wide. I had gotten the surgery when I was 5, The week before I started school. Raylene started school at 4 because my mom knew she would excel. She didn't recieve the surgery until 6, almost a year ago now, because of that intelligence. She was placed in speech contests practically as soon as she started school, so they withheld the surgery.

Tonight, she cannot speak. Neither of the 3 of us can. Mom sits in front of me at the dinner table, Dad's forever-empty seat on my left, Raylene at my right. It's quiet, of course, but for some reason it bothers me. There's nothing I can do about it, though, until I spot the Radio on the other side of the kitchen. Standing, I cross the limited tile space to the old stereo, and look at Mom with a small questioning glance. She nods, the tiniest upward movement on her cheeks appearing. Oh, I think as the music files in, marching through the kitchen and dancing in our ears. Mom habitually taps her foot to the beat of the music while Raylene's face drops. I run to her, pull her into a hug, and kiss her cheek as we swing along in the kitchen. She smiles at me, a silent thank you because I knew. And she knew that I know, because I know her.

If that confused you, imagine how it felt to be the one thinking it. But, confusing or not, it was true. I knew that she was wishing exactly what I was wishing, which was that we could sing. I wished that so much right now, I could cry from forbidden desire. But dancing with my younger sister was thrilling, and it almost made us forget all about what we were missing. We could've forgotten if it wasn't so important. How could you forget what someone took from you, if it meant you couldn't talk? Vocal cords may not seem important to you, but soon, we began to cry. Crumpling to the floor, it was the most emotion this house had seen since Raylene got her surgery. I had gone 10 years without my vocal cords from that damn surgery, and I had so hoped Raylene would be a first to keep hers. The Empire, cruel as they are, instructed the school and doctors that it was time, and so we wept. We wept for physical loss.

She had had such a beautiful voice, but now the only thing you could hear were our silent tears, and the silent sonnets I wrote in honor of our father, lost somewhere out there, who had presented me with the unique yet precious name.

Raylene holds on to me, and I'll never let her go. Our hearts melt together while Mom sips at her coffe. The precious moment fades into eternity with only each other as our holding-place.