Shush, I Can't Hear You! - [OPEN] | Hunger Games: The RPG

arx
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literally so gay, doing so many crimes

Shush, I Can't Hear You! - [OPEN] Mar 3, 2012 11:32:27 GMT -5

Post by arx on Mar 3, 2012 11:32:27 GMT -5

My head aches as I roll over in bed. I can feel cold sweat beading on my forehead and on my upper lip. My mouth is sticky with saliva and my lips hurt as they crack from dryness. I sit up, dizzy with fever as I glance around for a canteen of water. I remember my dad bringing one in but my eyes just won't find it. Despite my throbbing head I throw my blankets off of me in anger and storm away from the bed. I throw the curtain leading to my dad's makeshift room open and start to throw my hands and fingers into signs, cursing him, but I find him gone. It is the middle of the night, but still he must be working. I throw the curtain shut and walk back to my bed, wiping sweat away from my head. I sit on the edge of my cot, which is now my bed, and hold my head in my hands. I look down, and find that a water bottle is lying between my feet. I clamp it in my hand and find it cold to the touch. I throw the cap away and gulp it down as quickly as I can, spilling it all down my chin and onto my chest. I throw the bottle aside as it empties, angry that I had stormed to my dad's room and cursed him for not bringing me a water that was right there with me the whole time.

What is wrong with me?

I toss my pillow aside, revealing the only things I brought with me from District 8. My sketchbook is on top of the small heap. It's crinkled paper has a unique texture to the touch and all my drawings are within, stowed away from the world. I pick up the book and in the small amount of moonlight the streams into the tent I can see the last picture I drew. It's of one of the miners here in District 1. I remember how long he stood in the same spot, unmoving, bandaged and in pain, but never flinching. He watched the sun sink over the mountains, leaning on his shovel, tears streaming down his face. He didn't seem to mind me, sitting, watching , drawing. Hoping to catch his sorrow and put it on the paper. But I couldn't. True pain and sorrow can never be captured by a picture. I toss the drawing back onto my bed and off my lap and reach for the pile of papers that I keep together in a rubber band. My mom hadn't written me since I said I was traveling to District 1, but that's mostly because at the moment, no one knows where I am. Or doesn't want to take the time to find me.

I pull her last letter from the stack and read it over. I hate how much she mentions her. Every letter, all the time. She pushes questions like "Do you miss her?", "Have you met someone new?", and "Is she really that irreplaceable?" I find my fist clamped around the small letter after I am done reading. I throw the pile of letters from the bed, angry, not at my mom, but at the world. The letters spill around the room as the rubber band snaps. I stand off my cot and roll it over, sending my sketchbook askew. I kick at the ground and let my knuckles fly through the air as I swing at nothing but the crisp air around the tent. I collapse to the ground, gasping for air through my sobs. Tears stream down my face and I scream, my vocal cords attempting to create noise when I almost never use them. I scream and scream and scream but still I hear nothing. All is quiet, as usual. My lungs hurt and tears fall down my cheeks as I collapse into the dusty ground beneath me. The dust sticks to back and face and hands as it meets the sweat on my body. I may or may not be whimpering, but how would I know? Why should I care? Why can't I just die?

I reach into my jeans pocket and find unfold the picture that is now starting to wear away. The colors are faded and in the dark it is hard to see. But it's Ember. I know it. I stand, folding it into a small square and sliding it back into my pocket. I dust off my pants and find a T-shirt lying on the ground and throw it over my sweaty, dust encrusted body. I wipe any dust from my hair and exit the tent, not caring to wipe my eyes. I hate the Capitol, the way it all works. The Hunger Games ... Why couldn't that be me running around for my life? Why couldn't I have been sentenced to death by the Capitol? Instead, it was the Raidan's this year. Brother and sister, suffering together, knowing only one can come home safe; If any at all. Why does the Capitol insist on ruining so many lives?

I sit outside amongst rows and rows of makeshift tents and look up at the stars and moon. I twiddle my thumbs, mesmerized by the beauty of it all. The air is cool, and makes me feel a bit better, the fever leaving me for the moment. It is dark out, and most of the rescued miners and other District workers must be asleep, or at least tucked away inside. I had hoped to be alone, but somehow I doubt that will happen. Someone is always there to ruin the moment.

Remember, always. The world will never change its ways.

Especially for a deaf boy like me.

"I run on the road, long before I dance under the lights."

SNOWFLAKES [Brik]
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Shush, I Can't Hear You! - [OPEN] Mar 3, 2012 15:42:15 GMT -5

Post by SNOWFLAKES [Brik] on Mar 3, 2012 15:42:15 GMT -5

Main
Sign Language
Speech
Thoughts
Other's Speech

She hadn’t exactly wanted to come to District One, and she didn’t make it a secret that she despised the Districts that were better off than the other ones. Bastet observed ~~from reading way to many books and watching too many T.V shows~~ that the people from the lower Districts, the places like District Twelve, where everybody was skin and bones, worked hard just to survive and scrape by, while the upper Districts, like District Two, where everybody hardly even had to work, could sit back on their thrones, wealth and glory surrounding them like a fortress. Bastet couldn’t grasp the reason why there were Districts with so little money who worked as hard as they could and other Districts which barely had to move a muscle.

“So, what do I do now? I’m almost useless without ears and a voice, and you know I don’t know anything about gas pipes.” she had signed to her mother, who lay on a cot, a book in her hand. Her mother gently put the book aside, moving her hands back to Bastet, telling her that she could help the District Ten people, as she knew that Bastet was good with animals. “But my voice is pretty messed up, so how am I going to yell at the animals and the other people working? Not all animals are like Glass and Widow and they obey with whispers.” Her mother rolled her eyes and held up a folder filled with building plans and damage reports, telling her to go across the camp to give the thing to her father. Bastet immediately signed the word easy and snatched it from her mother, stalking out of the tent, folder under her arm and hands dug into her pockets so that she couldn’t reject.

With the only important sense remaining, she looked up at the sky, her one green and one blue eye flickering at the constellations that hung ever so delicately in the sky. As her feet moved in the dust and dirt across the huge camp slowly, the pace she moved with deterred, until her skinny, bony frame stopped completely. In the stars, she saw shapes and images, and if she paid close enough attention, she could see the little and big dipper, the archer, and the winged horse, but she couldn’t find anything else in the little lights that hung, glimmering gently in the sky. She wasn’t too focused on finding anything but a sense of moment escape.

Out of the corner of her blue eye, she saw one of the lights descending, which she absently watched with slight disinterest. She silently smirked as it danced across the sky. Even though I know it doesn’t work, that doesn’t mean I can’t wish for both Blythe and my hearing.

[/I] The thought made herself crack like a piece of glass. She tried to think nothing of it, but she couldn’t shake away the fact that she had known that boy; been to his apartment, talked with him, and now she wouldn’t ever get that chance again. She hadn’t shed too many tears, but when he took his last breath, she felt an emptiness fill her chest, knowing that she had talked to him, and he had signed back. Those hands had spoke to her, those pained eyes had looked directly through her, and it haunted her to know that the same person had been on her television screen, fighting for his life and then taking his last breath.

Bastet gritted her teeth and rolled her eyes slightly, making herself move before her mother did a backflip and sended search parties for a heterochromia affected blonde girl that couldn’t hear.

Walking and thinking and muttering to herself, her eyes focused on the ground as she winded through the camp that had been her temporary home for a few days, she would every so often lift her eyes to make a turn or look at the people that stood outside their tents and stared at her curiously. She had seen some of those people before, when she was bored and just wandering around to get a sense of the place, and she knew that most of the people that stood outside of the tents were from District One. She could tell by the way they seemed disgruntled and upset ~~and she felt glad that they were feeling the other District’s pains.~~ As she rolled her eyes and looked ahead of her, nearing the place where her father was talking with a couple of District Two people and a Peacekeeper, she suddenly found herself fallen over in the dirt, her boot having caught on something.

Looking up from where she lay on her side, papers scattered around her, she saw a boy sitting in front of his tent, and she instantly knew that, like the klutz she was, she had tripped over his ankle and sent herself to the floor. She instantly started signing her apologies with “Oh my god, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you, I didn’t mean to trip over you” but then she stopped herself, realizing that not every hearing person in the world knew sign, and so she repeated what she had said with her hands out loud in a voice that had been through a couple rounds of speech therapy, but wasn’t good enough for everyday use. And this is one of those few times where I wish everyone could be deaf for my convenience. [/size] [/blockquote] [/justify]

Last Edit: Mar 3, 2012 15:43:12 GMT -5 by SNOWFLAKES [Brik]

Ally: obviously the B, R, I, K, N, O, P, and E, are silent, and it's pronounced "Fabulicious."

arx
Retired Staff

2,432 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her
last seen May 19, 2024 18:51:19 GMT -5

literally so gay, doing so many crimes

Shush, I Can't Hear You! - [OPEN] Mar 3, 2012 16:54:09 GMT -5

Post by arx on Mar 3, 2012 16:54:09 GMT -5

The dusty ground beneath me was somewhat comforting as I watched the stars flicker in the sky. They had a sort of way of dancing around the sky; which I suppose is why it is so fun to stare at the same twinkling things every single night. The crisp air twists past my ears and through my hair, even as I lay on the ground. My head still throbs with a bit of pain but my fever is being subdued by the coolness of the night. My tears are gone and have dried and I hate myself for being so stupid. I am supposed to be helping set up camps for the miners and other workers, not crying over memories, over someone who I had told 'Always.' How could I let myself be that way? What have I become? A Griffin without an Ember is a selfish asshole isn't he?

I let out a sigh.

Thunder. I love thunder and lightning. Storms. Most people despise things that are so loud, so frightening, and possible devastating. But I can't. I mean, how could I hate such a gift? I remember walking through the rain, through the fields of District 8, mesmerized by more than just the scenery. I learned so much that day; so much in so little time. How a single person can spark something so strong inside you and how an Ember can burn on forever, even if the light only flickers. But that isn't the only reason I love thunder. And storms. Thunder has a booming voice, something so loud it seems that even I hear it. I causes a pound in my chest so hard that I can't help but think I am hearing. Thunder helps me believe that she is still around. Thunder helps me believe that I can hear.

But that's just me being naive. I will never hear. She will never return.

The stars still shine bright above my head even as I swim in my thoughts. I think about going to get my sketchbook, but instead decide I'd rather not move. I feel myself not wanting to miss a single thing. I watch as a single star darts across the sky, a single flame that finally died out at the other end of the black space; all within a single moment. Maybe that's how everything is. Birth, beauty, dead. But I know that can't be true. Only the best of us all are allowed the beauty part; otherwise, the rest of us are just birth and death.

I sit up quickly as I feel a tangle of feet toss themselves over my ankles and shins. Shit!! Against the moonlight I watch papers float to the ground and settle in the dust, a girl rolling over, moving her hands frantically. I stand and dust myself off, looking down at her, trying to figure out a way to explain I can't hear her. Except, I can. Her words meet me perfectly. It isn't just a random movement of hands and fingers, its words. My words. Sign language. I can't help but smile at myself, wondering if I am seeing things or if it's all just a dream. I scratch my head, trying to compose myself before I sign back at her. I look up and see her lips moving and wonder how she learned to speak ... Or maybe I should ask myself how she learned to sign? Either way, I don't care. I already heard her.

"It's no problem. My fault."

I begin to pick up the papers that have placed themselves everywhere across the ground, but I can only focus on her. How can she know ... ? I'm still smiling, letting a somewhat familiar situation pop into my brain. It seems that I have to have a girl trip over me, literally, to get to know her.

"I run on the road, long before I dance under the lights."

SNOWFLAKES [Brik]
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Shush, I Can't Hear You! - [OPEN] Mar 4, 2012 15:58:56 GMT -5

Post by SNOWFLAKES [Brik] on Mar 4, 2012 15:58:56 GMT -5

Main
Sign Language
Speech
Thoughts
Other's Speech

After her cracked, unused voice came to a stop, she saw a small little smile grow on the boys face as he looked down upon her. "It's no problem. My fault." Her eyebrows knit together in confusion as she looked at his moving hands, which, to her, formed words. As he bent down to help pick up the thin, leaf-like papers that had scattered in the dust like they were trying to escape ~~and they probably were, Bastet repels almost everything~~ , she rolled over and got on one knee, gathering everything along with the boy while she stole curious glances at him, wondering how he knew her intricate hand language.

She had seldom ever met anybody that was a hearing person that could speak like the deaf. Of course, she had deaf friends that had hearing parents and the sort, but she had never actually met an individual who learned sign and had no friends or family that were deaf. Seeing such a thing was pretty rare, but Bastet recalled that she had talked to a hearing woman at her school for the blind and deaf (She had been visiting to apply for a teaching job, but for some reason, they didn’t like her and didn’t get the job) who had learned the language when she was in high school. Apparently, they had an extra course where they could be able to learn it from a deaf person and she took it. Bastet was impressed at how fluently she could move her hands and create the words, even though sometimes the way her fingers were placed wasn’t all that correct (which she corrected almost instantly). At least the hearing are starting to care. They usually just ignore us and hope we go away.

That is why after awhile, it finally clicked with her that either he was deaf himself or he knew somebody that was deaf. I finally found someone that can sign in this damned camp. The left corner of her lips felt like it was being tugged up, and eventually, she had a half smile on her face. Probably because she knew she wouldn’t be limited from talking to the hearing of which she had difficulty lipreading (as people hardly moved their lips in the camp, just mumbling things under their breath) and speaking to, as she hadn’t taken speech therapy in awhile, and after some time, deaf people sometimes lose the grade-a quality that they used to be able to speak. She found someone that she could talk to without straining her throat to produce a sound. Someone in the camp besides her parents that could finally understand what she was trying to say.

After all of the papers had been gathered and shoved uncaringly in the folder, she looked up at him, her eyebrows knit together and she both spoke and signed to him. “Thank you for helping me. My name is b-a-s-t-e-t.” She performed her sign name, which was two sign language letter b’s put together and then pulled apart quickly. “Just wondering, but are you deaf or are you hearing? I’m deaf.” She tucked her lips in and put her hands in her pockets, still mulling over the fact that she was talking to another human being that knew sign in the camp.

Ally: obviously the B, R, I, K, N, O, P, and E, are silent, and it's pronounced "Fabulicious."

arx
Retired Staff

2,432 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her
last seen May 19, 2024 18:51:19 GMT -5

literally so gay, doing so many crimes

Shush, I Can't Hear You! - [OPEN] Apr 15, 2012 12:47:27 GMT -5

Post by arx on Apr 15, 2012 12:47:27 GMT -5

Bastet. The uniqueness of it makes me feel like smiling and I almost can't hold back my pleasure with how different she is from everyone else I have ever met. I look at her in the dim light and notice her eyes are different colors - I find myself unable to decide which one to focus on when I look at her so instead I just drop my head instead. And when she asks if I am deaf or not (with her hands mind you) I am wondering if she is actually deaf or just able to hear or not and then adds that in fact she is deaf. Like me. This has never happened to me before - sure my dad can talk to me, but he can also hear everything. The birds chirping, the thunder clapping, the rain falling, glass shattering - He can hear everything. But Bastet, she can't hear - like me.

"I'm Griffin.

I feel my hands shoot straight in my pockets despite wanting to offer to shake her hand. I don't know why but ever since Ember died it is hard to even look at any girl an i guess that is why I am so upset that I am noticing this one. I decide it's only because she is deaf and I can actually communicate with her. So I continue you to talk because I have never opportunity before to share anything with anybody. "I'm also deaf. And I'm from District 8. I came with my dad because he is helping with the collapsed mine and stuff. He actually put alot of these tents up and, actually, - " And then I realize I'm not shutting up and just letting my hands sit at my sides or in my pockets so I look to her and make sure to sign a quick, "Sorry." before I drop my head to the dust trail again. But then I still want to say more so I pull my hands up again and look back at her and ask, "So where are we headed with the papers?"

I'm looking at her eyes again, smiling, overjoyed by what I have discovered. And then reality creeps back into my mind and I realize I am staring at her again so I raise my head to the sky where the stars are shimmering in the sky. I think each has it's own purpose up there, each has its own little job it has to do and its own need to fulfill. And I can't help but wonder if one of those stars up there is Ember and if she sent me a friend. A person like me - someone as unique as a fingerprint or a snowflake. I want to push the thought away because I don't want anyone but Ember back in my life. I don't want someone new, even if they are amazing and she speaks my language and whatever else we have in common. But I know that I know that this new girl I have stumbled upon, or actually stumbled over my ankles, is only someone I can have for a moment.

Because I am certain she is not from District 8.