whisper winds {piper}

Curiouser and curiouser, the little mouse creeps forward. I follow, hopping down the grass-lined path after the little white blur, watching him ever-so closely so as not to lose him out of my sight. I can't hear him crawling a few inches away from me, so my eyes are all I've got. He is delightful, absorbing me in his adventures and dragging me along with him on a hunt for food. The dirt underneath my feet is soft and damp from the rain last night, and my toes are so cold it feels as though the ground underneath me is springy and I am hopping from foot to foot with short bursts of gravity here and there. I wonder if gravity has a sound, perhaps a slow hum. But I think Julo told me that it wasn't gravity that had a sound, but the wind that either howled or whispered depending on it's mood. (That statement reminded me of her, but I daren't whisper that aloud in fear my sister would howl at me instead.)

The little mouse leads me to the town square, people haggling and buying and swooping around us like the wind in fierce, chilling winters. So small, so carefree, he reminds me of my little brother (or perhaps, in some ways, myself - with a bigger, older, stronger person watching over me) as he darts about in the grass, leading the way on an adventure. There is caution in my bare footed steps when people are near, and even more-so in town. Peacekeepers line the roads near reaping dates, but it's not so bad in the Seam where they'd rather not tread through street-rats and their dirty homes. Here, though, they swarm. And I don't like the edginess they bring to my four senses or the marks they stomp into the ground and embed their tracks through my conscience. For a moment, I wonder what it's like to live where you're not afraid of the place you come from.

The morning sings of people. I can't hear it, of course, only the whoosh of breeze through my ears and what I assume is the vibrations of feet on the ground slicing through my limbs, but if I could hear songs I'd like to write one about this place. Sometimes when I can't sleep and voices keep me up, Julo sings me to sleep with her blurred words and tingling lines of song. I am forever lost in a muffled, disjointed world where everybody has a hand above me just for being born with the ability to hear. But I can see the ruffles of a birds' wings before he takes off for flight, watch Julo's face light up as she sings (the only passion my sister gets to keep to herself in our tiny little home), peer through a window and watch the sky light up in patches when storms arrive. Being deaf does not make me sad - it makes me pity those who have to hear the beauty in small things, not see them.

Yet pity is thrust upon me who hold any kindness in their heart. Everyone knows me - that little deaf girl with the siblings. Likes to draw and pick flowers. Has a big smile and an even bigger heart. Particularly good at finding misplaced things - but still lost in a world of silence, poor thing. The great divide between myself and everyone else in District Twelve is that nobody really knows me at all - but sometimes that works to my advantage. (The little mouse runs underneath a rusted wall, and as I bend down to peer underneath with curious brown eyes he scampers up a drain and out of sight. He was fun whilst it lasted, I suppose.) There's a Peacekeeper who's relatively new on the job here - I know that not from anybody else's' investigations but my own. Sometimes he smiles at me when he's off-duty and Julo walks with me to buy food, hand-in-hand so I won't wander. You can't call a little sister back to safety when she can't hear you.

And this said Peacekeeper has a boy by the arm, dragging him away from a stall with the most fierce of looks and uncaring intentions painted all over him.

Fear paralyses me. Suddenly it is not only my ears that won't work, but my limbs and fingers and lungs. The only part of me that hammers away is my heart, beating an echo-less pace through my head. I've only ever seen a glimpse of punishment here, because my siblings usher me away before I can catch a sight of what I could get myself into. Trouble follows me around, like I to the mouse, weather I like it or not. Shaking trouble off, however, is a whole other story. I never jump straight into it, it always seems to find me.

Except today. Something inside of me switches, a key turned into a lock, and I'm running as fast as my trembling legs will carry me all the way to the Peacekeeper, steps hammering in time to my racing heartbeat, chasing the clock and the boy's fate all at the same time. Before I can stop myself (they always tell me to hush, that my words are too loud and drawing attention to myself will only cause more trouble) I'm yelling "WAIT!" at the man in uniform. "WAIT! STOP!"

And he does. Whether he was alarmed to see the poor, helpless girl he'd heard of through whispers across the wind screaming after him or whether my act just caught him off guard, his face surely told a tale of surprise. "Wait!" I repeat, catching my breath in heaves of morning oxygen as I come to a stop. Burying my hand in my pocket I almost throw the money for this morning's bread at the man, and through gasps I bark in what I pray are coherent words easy enough to string into a believable tale. "My brother! I have money... no stealing... he's my brother... I went to get money... please don't..."

He pauses, and the world stops. The earth ceases to turn. Time exists only in the grip of the Peacekeeper on the boy's arm, in his baffled glare, in the flowers dotting the meadow in the distance that I pray I'll get to see again. I could have just thrown away the last chance I'll ever see them, ever get to lie in them on a summer's evening and stare up at the sky whilst my siblings play around me, ever get to sit and draw stems and leaves and blades of grass that tickle my arms and float into my nose and make me sneeze, delighted and frightened at the sensation all in one moment.

And the world begins to turn again and it seems he believes me, because his grip loosens and looks around to find nobody else in sight before turning back to me, my eyes wide and arms trembling in shock. He pats me on the shoulder and takes my money, lips moving as a distant murmur brushes past my ears. But I don't need words to tell me that he's going to let us go. There's still kindness in his eyes. More than likely he's been told that I do, in fact, have an older brother, and that I do, in fact, visit town often with him. He smiles at me and takes the coins in my hand, sends a warning glance towards the boy, and before he's turned the corner to leave I've grabbed the boy and ran towards my meadow, tugging him behind me with all the hurry in the world.

Planting him behind the tree (I've barely had a chance to look at him but I think we both know I've just saved his life), I immediately press my fingers to my lips. "Can't talk," I force out of my lips in what I hope is the quietest tone I can muster. "No hearing." Pointing to my ears, I shake my head furiously. This is an act I've played out before, explaining to other kids at my sibling's school when they see me waiting out on the fence that talking is tricky, but hearing is even harder. Cupping my hands towards his ear, I communicate the way I always have - whispers.

"Only whispering" I breathe. "Whispering is ok."

Julo's voice floats through my head in a memory and tells me that I'm too nice to people. That my heart is pure and my intentions just, but that not everybody is like me. That sometimes, seeing the best in everyone can get you killed.

But thankfully, I think I'll live today.

you were a child
crawling on your knees toward it
making momma so proud
but your voice
was too loud