This post is the third of four instalments for the story 'If Something Was Missing, This Would Be IT'.  Read the first instalment to this story here. Read the second instalment to this story here.

 

 

That question anchored itself to my mind, it became real. What next? Where do I go from here? I guess, to have discovered somebody who understands you, someone who eradicates your loneliness, it speaks volumes... however, I simply desired more and thrived to find others who experienced life in a unique manner. 

 

When I returned home from my monumental day, I told my mother about my 'discovery' (I would now associate this word with the essence of happiness embedded in my memory from today's events). 
"She can taste words mom, just like I can picture the words in my head!" I revealed with buoyancy.
"Taste words? That's ridiculous Nousha, you can't possibly believe that's true," she replied, administering a hurtful response. "You really are a funny mick," she has referred to myself by this name before when I was 8, but this time she didn't smile, she glared intimidatingly. 

 

I stared at her in disbelief, pausing to paint a picture in my mind of the exact words my new friend delivered before responding. The picture gradually became exposed in my mind, it whispered; "I accept who you are, relax." I could not relax at this point, the anger I possessed brewed continuously as I exploded;


 "She accepted me, so you should accept her!" the room feel silent. "H-h-h-ow, " I began to stutter as I attempted to construct a verbally suitable sentence to my mother, "d-d-d-are you say it's ridiccuulouss?" during my delivery of this question a tear dripped down my face as I began to breath heavily in the anticipation of inevitably being shouted at. 

 

"Nousha, Nousha!" she shouted. As soon as she said my name, the anger reappeared causing ghastly flavours to be forced upon my tongue. I hated it. I closed my eyes and clenched my fists to maintain composure, she continued, "How dare you use that tone with me? I'm your mother, start treating me with respect!"


I couldn't restrain my anger any longer but I wasn't able to establish an intellectual response, all I could decifer in my mind was a subtle "no" that escaped out of my mouth. I turned and drifted upstairs to my room. 

 

The next morning I visited my friend, she could sense the anxiety that was flowing through my vains. How was I supposed to tell her that my mom thought she was a liar? What if she savored an awful taste that would stay with her forever? I couldn't put who through that. I wouldn't dare put her through that. 

 

I decided against telling Alice (her name),creating excuses to the questions she asked, particularly changing the subject...

 

"Alice? Do you ever wonder if there are anymore people like us?"
"What do you mean, 'like us'?"- Alice seemed confused in her reply.
"Being different. Having these abilities to see words and taste words. Don't you ever wonder? I questioned again.
"Of course, but we'll never find out, will we?" I noticed a glint in her eye, I could tell that she wanted to join me on my quest, my quest to find out how experience is experienced. 

 

"Let's find out..." 

 

 

 

Writers' Relay 2 | Post 3

Writer: Jason Timmington

Profile:  Jason Timmington is 17 years old. He enjoys writing short stories as a hobby as it lets him be creative in other aspects other than performing /acting which is his real passion. Jason is a member of a Fourth Wall theatre group, and emphasised that he was keen to writer for the relay as he thought it would be great to take part in another area of Fourth Wall and work alongside other incredible writers. 

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