Speechless

The world was built of words. Talks of peace and cries of battle shaped history as we know it. Or so I have been told, I have not experienced war myself and peace is not something I know. I think peace is when you feel perfect, look perfect, and act perfect. As I am only one of the three I suppose I'm not peaceful or completely perfect.

Nobody can know.

***

Silence is the destroyer of worlds. In that way my muteness is off putting. If I am as perfect as they think I am, as I am supposed to be, why do I not talk? They have different theories. Most of them agree on the one that makes them feel better. The one that makes them believe all their work is worthwhile. Speech is something that humans invented, they say, therefore my inarticulateness indicates a brain that is more advanced. Or evolved as they like to say. It does not matter what words they use, it all boils down to one thing. I am perfect.

I play along and act haughty and coy, as if there very presence disgusts me. Nobody can know that I am not as perfect as they say.

***

The other theory is suspected sometimes. But only one individual is willing to believe it. I do not let him know, for I certainly cannot tell him, that he is correct. He has power over me, now that he knows my secret, and the thought makes my stomach churn and my head ache. But I suffer in silence. I must show no pain. I must feel perfect.

No one can know that I am never at peace.

***

It is hard to act perfect for him. I am physically and mentally capable of performing all the tests that he gives me. Writing down answers to questions I could care less about, putting little pegs in different shaped holes, performing acrobatic feats, that all comes easily. But there is another aspect that I fail at. I know that something is not right with me psychologically and that is not something I can improve. They look at the results of tests I take and mutter to themselves. Eventually they fall back on the old excuse, I see things differently because I am so evolved, but he looks at me and it is clear that he does not think I am perfect.

Nobody can know. But he knows of my imperfections and I cannot convince him otherwise.

***

Looking perfect is the only thing I do not have to work at. It is also one of the few things I do not understand. I am told I am extremely attractive by human standards. I do not see anything myself, just two eyes (two big vacant eyes), one mouth (one solemn and small mouth), and one nose (one average nose). But then again, I have never been a good judge of beauty. I see so little of it after all and I think I am rather oblivious to such things at this point.

Nobody can say that my looks are not perfect except myself. Of this I am proud.

***

I have decided that I must teach myself how to talk, if only to prove to him that I can be almost perfect. When people talk around me do more than just listen. I sound out the words and try to taste them on my tongue. It is harder then it looks and the result I get most often is nothing more than a faint puff of air. I have whistled once, but that is the extent of my progress.

Speech is quite an imperfect thing. I wish everyone would go without it. But almost nobody does.

***

I think he knows of my struggles. I wish he would give me a hint to validate my theory but he has become as speechless as me. He watches me more intently than he did before, if that proves anything. I think he likes to see me strain myself. He likes to see me run in futile circles. I hope he does not know something I do not.

I wonder if he knows I know that he knows.

***

I am beginning to think that I will never be able to talk. All my practice has brought me absolutely no results. But I cannot let myself give up. That would be admitting that there is something I am not able to do. That would be admitting that I have a flaw that cannot be reversed. That would be admitting that I am not and will never be perfect.

I think that is what he wants me to do. But nobody can know so I will not give up.

***

I think the stress is getting to me. I am rather ornery today and my actions are not favorable. They are muttering to themselves. Even in my room I can still hear them. They do not think I am perfect either. I am sure he is feeling good about himself.

I am not sure I care anymore.

***

My first words are "shut up". I can still hear them talking even though they have gone to bed long ago. They squawk and babble in my ears without pause and I am so tired. I want to go to sleep. My next few words are threats. I say I will kill them all if they do not cease. They do not listen and I am far too exhausted to make good of my threat.

I do not think anybody but me hears them.

***

I show him privately that I can talk. I speak many words and sentences. When I am done I ask him if this means I am perfect, or at least near to it. He says I can never be perfect. He says I am one of many and that it is only my speechlessness and higher intelligence that makes me special. They all believe, he says, that I am a miracle. He tells me that now he knows that I am nothing of the sort. He has always believed that I was a mistake and now I have proved it.

I am so angry I cannot think straight. That is bad for him because people often lash out when they are angry. The same goes for me but even though I am not all the way perfect I am much stronger than him.

Nobody comes to collect his body for a long time. The cracks in the tiles are filled with blood by the time they arrive and it is starting to smell.

***

I lie. I have always been very good at it. I tell them through a note that he doubted my perfection and threatened to have me destroyed. I was forced to defend myself.

It is amazing how easily they believe it. I think I have become a deity of sorts for them. I am better than they are and while they do not love me they do the next best thing. They fear me.

Best of all, I know I can talk. That means I'm two thirds of the way perfect. I go to bed with a smile on my face, more at peace than I ever have been.

Too bad nobody can know.