The Way I Hear It (extract) by Hannah Morpeth

Erm, so, well, I’m new at this journaling business; not really sure where to start if I’m honest. My name’s Charlie Leonard Porthouse, Charlie because my Mum had a tabby cat named Charlie that she adored when she was younger-but of course nobody knows this cheesy name origin. Named after a cat, what a brilliant start to life.


I should probably tell you why I’m writing this. I’m a mute. That’s right- I don’t talk. Ever. Unless you count leaving messages on the fridge. I’m reasonably new to that too-it’s been two months today, so I’m marking the occasion with the documentation of what I see and hear. You see, to the world I’m silent but I know your secrets.


Reasons for being a mute:


1) My father. In short he is a bastard. He’s cheating on my mum with some 25-year-old slut. Thing is nobody knows, well, they act like they don’t see it. This is the sort of power I don’t want.


2) My sweet and innocent sister. She’s not all sweet and innocent, anything but it in all honesty. But who cares about the truth? Don’t get me wrong I love Farrah but her sex, drugs and rock and roll lifestyle is being overlooked, like it’s not really happening. It’s like my parents think that admitting Farrah has issues would get rid of our “perfect” image.


3) “Normal people” i.e. people who talk, hear conversations, this way I hear the silences. Granted that makes me sound a little crazy, allow me to explain. You know that chest-out, bum-out, gets-all-of-the-boys popular girl? Yeah, in reality she’s really insecure because her insanely strict parents have such high expectations of her. Impressed?


4) Everybody is living a lie and I honestly can’t keep up with the web of lies any more. Who cares what everyone else thinks? I’m done with pretending I agree with it all.


So there you are, I’m a pretty quiet person.


Just because I don’t talk, doesn’t mean I don’t listen and listen I do, when they’re sneaking out, sneaking about, when they’re lying.