WARNING: Harsh language.

                “Speak,” they scream at me.

                “Open your mouth, ,” they sneer at me, slamming me into the hard dirt.

                “Please,” I want to say, “Please stop.”

                I squeeze my eyes shut and brace myself for the impending injury that is about to pound into my face.  I hear a few grunts and someone say, “ off, what’s the point of hurting this kid?” before I open my eyes timidly.  They brush themselves off and glare at me as they walk away.  There’s another boy in front of me, offering his hand to me.

                I give a small smile in appreciation and take his hand.  It’s warm, but not clammy, shooting a shock of heat into my arm.  Once on my feet, I let go of him and bow deeply, wanting to say, “Thank you so much, they could’ve killed me,” but as I rise, he’s already walking off.  I want to call out to thank this stranger, to ask him why he saved me, to befriend him, but who am I kidding?  No one wants to be friends with me.  It’s as if they think it’s a disease to be like me.

                To be mute.