SpeakMature

Tyler:

 

“Come on Tyler. Please talk to me! It feels like I'm talking to a rock!” My foster father, Paul wined. He stared earnestly into my eyes. His black irises shining with tears. I stared down to my uneaten dinner. Not talking. I haven't talked to anyone for about a year now. Not because I was mute. It's because I don't trust anyone. I'm unable to utter a single noun to anyone. Haven't since last Christmas. Where my mom died. And I left my dad.

Suddenly Paul was shaking my shoulders, warm tears flowed down his winkled cheeks. I stared at him.

“Speak Tyler! SPEAK!” He yelled pathetically at me. His sad little face not showing a hint of hope.

He gave up easily, crumbling down to the table, sobbing for my horrible past. I shook my head and walked away, not excusing myself from the dinner table. I ran down the stairs to the cold basement. I flopped down on my unmade bed, sighing. Paul was a sympathetic old geezer, and I was appreciative of his hospitality. I just don't trust him. I don't trust anyone anymore. You see, my dad made a promise to me, and he broke it.

I won't bore you with the details of the memorable night.

It'll take too long to tell.

I looked up towards my always opened window, a cold breeze pushing back my dark bangs away from my eyes. Small bits of snow started to fall around Paul's front yard. Christmas was almost here.

I turned away quickly from the snow before the memory could penetrate my mind. I laid down and slowly started to fall asleep.

I dreamed about my mom. My dad. Flashes of red and blue filled the scene.

 

The End

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