Story for a key

Story For A Key
Since the day i was locked up here, I didn't speak.

I am currently stammering this all out, so I apologize if I don't speak clearly.

Let's get this straight;

Even though I hate speaking, I can't stay silent forever- i'll go crazy.

Not speaking is a hard thing to do, for ten years.

Can I trust you, to listen to me?

Expected; silence. Your just a key, after all.

I don't have who to tell this all to; so i'll tell you, Golden Key.

Silence, if you like it or not, changes to.

Kills you at times.

I used to love silence, letting my thoughts fill our the quietness, thoughts, not words.

'Let's talk' everyone always told me, but I always rathered to think.

'Let's not' I always said back; if only I knew how my silence was deadly.

I never really, took the time to sit there, and listen to silence.

Never cared to. I always filled it out with my thoughts.

God, so all this time I did hate silence; I myself just filled it out- but now I have nothing to fill it in with.

Maybe I could tell you a story, golden key?

Eh... is it weird a key reminds me of myself? Never talks, never smiles?

Best will be if I see how others felt around me, then. I'll pretend your me, and i'm a random person.

Unnatural, how I can relate to a key.

To be honest, i'm just rambling now, not telling you any story.

In the beginning, I was born in Kenareianilan, somewhere in the south.

Let's face it; I was a mistake.

Listening to every sentence me and my family exchanged would show you that.

Hope wasn't one of my strong points either. I never knew hope.

Only sometimes, I hoped the sun would shine brighter when it was cold, or my ink would last for the last few words.

'Let go, let yourself hope a bit, kid' they all used to say.

'Do what? Let myself down every few seconds now?' I always responded, probably my first words they hear-and last.

Only people who made me speak where my parents- wouldn't want them to turn their backs on me, aye?

Never mind, i'm rambling. Again. Okay, Key. Here's a 'lil story.

song
"Don't tell me the sea is loud;"

"Tell me; the angry waters hit the shore, growling out a warning, that the storms coming" My father said, as I pulled the covers closer to me, nuzzling into them.

"But father, what do I tell you when the moon shines, then? Or when the wolf starts smiling?" I asked, huffing as my father laughed.

My father was a writer- he always loved to make his sentences longer- which I could never get, he always wanted to write more- while whenever I tried, my ink would run out.

"The sky was lit up by a dazzling light, a reflection of shining light on shattered glass. The pearly light wolf sat there, a slight smile as a sign of happiness lightening up on her face." smiled my father.

I smiled to.

He would always talk about my mother.

How beautiful she was, how her 'pearly while fur' would look wonderful, or how her 'eyes, blue like the calming water that flows in and out of the sea' would 'roam the world before her, as if it was a open novel'.

I loved how they both would talk about each other.

My father then would kiss me goodnight and leave the room, as I would mutter the words he spoke over and over again, until I fell asleep.

Old habit I had.

The next day, my mother would come in, and sing me to sleep.

"Hush little child, the sky is singing,"

"The children now sleep, while the moon keeps watch,"

"Hush little child, the sky is singing,"

"The sun waits for you to come back and play,"

"Hush little child, the sky is singing,"

"It's playing it's piano,"

"It's singing it's song,"

"Hush little child, the sky is singing,"

"It will always lead you back, wherever you are."

"Hush little child, the sky is singing."

"Get some rest, for you'll be winning."

And it was like that every week.

One day, father comes to put me to sleep- second day, mother sings me a song.

I always loved that, you know?

How it goes on, in a circle.

It was wonderful, I loved it.

I love it when I know what to expect- I hate not knowing.

Sometimes, you just are forced to be somewhere, do something.

You always ask; what do I do? Why am I doing this?

And if you have gotten an answer, it would be wonderful, maybe not perfect, but you'd at least have an answer.

But if you don't know what to do, or what your doing, it always kills you a little inside, not knowing.

You get me?

Well, that's why there was one day I hated more then the others.

"Father, I thought you came yesterday" I said sleepily, as I layed in bed, looking up. He stood in the doorway, as usual.

"Yes. But today, I wanted to sing you a song." he said, before coming in the room and sitting next to me on the bed, like mother always did.

"Hush little child, the night is dark"

"Light fades from the moon, the room goes dark"

"Mother used to come, to tuck you in-"

"Now she's nowhere to be seen"

And that was the last song I ever was sang to, Key.

Now I sit here, a key infront of me, one hundred and twenty five doors you have unlocked for me- why won't you let me out through this last one?

Maybe, if I tell you another story, you'd help?

You know what, Key?

I'll sleep for now.