"What do you want now?" He spat these words at me. These were the words of a 16-year-old boy who didn't give a damn if I was upset. I was locked in a room full of children who were feeling the air for their own voices back. Would I have to do like them, would I have to grab the cold air for something that is mine, and only mine and no one had the right to take from me because I came to help screaming children?
"...(Why are you doing this)...."
"Are you completely thick? No one will ever understand me, no one. Yet, I thought, knowing what you did, you'd understand".
"...(Explain to me and I will)..." What did I do that he was speaking so casually about?
"Fine. Like any boy from this town, my father worked in this mill. Yet, none of the men liked working here, as they suddenly all lost their voices, except my dad, then one day, all the men in this town seemed slowly to die out, except my father.
Doctors believed they lost their voices because of chemicals in the atmosphere, but I knew that wasn't true, for my father spent more time in the mill than anyone. For each day, he would leave this town of pain and death behind him, and retreat to his mill. But people kept disturbing him, accusing him of murder. He swore if it didn't stop they would pay. One day, I woke up and called out for my father, he must have already left for the mill, yet as I peered out my window to see the familiar candle lit room at the top of the mill, I couldn't even see the mill. A thick gray fog had fixated around my father's mill. I...