A/N: This will be used as the prologue for another story. Chapters and all for once! Yay! Aren't you all just happy? Okay, anyway, it will be about 'someone' and "me" more or less obviously. I'm not sure how long it will be right now, but tell me how it's going, ok? I haven't done anything like this before so I'm sure I'll need encouragement and constructive criticism along the way. Thanks! ~Kara Grace
Toby sat down on the far side of the bench. He was the only one waiting for the bus today. He wasn't surprised by it either. The rain had let up some, not that Toby really cared. No one listened to him, nobody paid attention or heard his words. That's what the raindrops reminded him of. Words. Silent words that allowed silence to grow so much that it swallowed you and choked you off. Toby shivered and wished he had worn a jacket but thoughts quickly dispersed the numbness of cold. People wrote songs everyday that mouths never get to share. There it was again; Silence. 'Listen to the silence' was always a phrase that had captivated him when he was young. The words fell in his mind like silent raindrops slowly forming pools of quiet. Silence the listening. Toby thought bow. It made sense. People has stopped talking to listen, but when we all fell silent to listen... We all started to listen with our mouths instead of with our ears and hearts. We became petty, buying rings and things to ease our pain. Cheap things...
The rain starts to pour again and Toby lifted his face up toward the sky. The bus wasn't coming. He got up, shoved his hands into the pockets of his black jeans, laughed a little as the thought came to him that his black silk shirt and socks and shoes would be ruined from the rain, shook his steely black hair out of his gray-blue eyes and walked down the empty street. Past the pools of silent words and the quiet buildings devoid of people. A bolt of lighting flashed and he was gone. I sat dumbstruck. You know, it's amazing what you can learn from a person when all you can hear is silence.
Chapter 1. – Silence the Listening
Walking home in the rain.
Not quite hearing what gives us all pain.
Listening to the silence that surrounds me,
Again I hear them cry out to me;
Silence the Listening.
A young man walked slowly through the crowd of people he never saw on the street today. His steely black hair swaying as the autumn breeze caught it. Every time he made this day long walk, it rained on his way back. That's what windtalkers did. They listened to the silence and the way they felt affected everything around them. He didn't mind, really, not being able to hear the way everyone else did, he didn't even mind not being able to talk the way everyone else did either. It just came naturally for him and he had gotten used to it. And so he walked, down the faded streets as the sun beat down on his back, wearing a black silk shirt and black pants, socks a shoes. It was all black. Dark. He tried to ignore the silence that surrounded him as people passed him, head down, staring at the cracks in the sidewalk. The only person he talked to had named him, his father had called him. Slowly the thought turned over in his mind. My name is Windtalker, though my father called me Ash.
Ash stopped in front of the granite stone that was barely visible over the ground. The grass was just starting to grow back over the small mound of dirt about as long as a man's body and about three feet wide. His father was buried there for just over a year now last spring. There hadn't been much of a service for him, only the preacher, himself and a few others. Because of what he had been.
Carefully, Ash pulled a yellow flower out of the pocket of his sweatshirt and benevolently kneeled to place it on the grave. It was beautiful; the leaves on the trees were a stunning array of reds, oranges, yellows and golds, several leaves scattering the deep green earth under Ash's knees and the yellow of the flower below the headstone, again, with Ash, head bowed in a silent reverence… It was a picture of truth. The sun setting made it perfect. There was never a more genuine look in Ash's eyes than when he raised his face to the sky and stared, as if looking Him straight in the eye. The young man could not speak. That just wasn't how he asked for things. Ash closed his gray-blue eyes and thought of what he wished could be again if He desired it to be so.
The sun had vanished into the western sky, leaving only faint traces of color behind it by the time Ash lowered his face and stood up. The way his eyes gleamed hinted at a hidden frustration, as if he had just lost an argument over whether or not he could have a cookie. He reached down and ran his hand over the warm stone. Reading the words in his mind, past the name, past the dates and names, down over the big letters that read "Silence the Listening" and Ash smiled. The words his father had always repeated to him. The words that meant something Ash hadn't figured out yet. Slowly the memories of his father came back and the smile faded from his face and he felt sad. Aguish soon shrouded him as he turned to walk him. The raindrops he had come to expect came softly, not pounding but rather just touching someone. Caressing their face as they looked up towards it. Just another thing he had come to expect from who he was. The only thing he didn't like was the silence. It screamed. I watched him cautiously even though I knew that he knew I was there. The things you learn from silence are things that are never taught. He is Windtalker, listen to him.