Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Sets of Three, They Say...

Giving Red Bull a Run For it's Money.

by howshesews 5 reviews

It wasn't a gift she asked for, but a gift just the same. Noise was overrated, plus, she had beautiful hands (or, so some had said.) She didn't really ask for a sweet love triangle, though, eith...

Category: Fall Out Boy - Rating: R - Genres: Humor, Romance - Published: 2006-11-17 - Updated: 2006-11-18 - 779 words

ALRIGHT. i'm here, and i've got a story that i decided not to post until i had it near completion, just because i hate leaving you all hanging. you're just too precious. keep in mind that this was the hardest story to write...pretty much ever. a lot of bases to cover as far as one of the characters go. just stick with me. i'm kind of proud of this one. in regular howshesews fashion, though, the first few chapters are going to be not-so-lengthy, just because....

i don't know why i always do that. nevermind.

i love you. this one is for you guys. but, regarding some advice i recived from the incredibly wise whatkatydid, it's for you, but only because it was originally for me.



Meg looked around her.

Faces. As far as the eye could see. Million of mouths, talking. Thinking it's as natural as the ability to inhale, and then exhale.

All of those millions of mouths saying billions of words per second, per minute, per hour, per get the picture.

Meg was silent. To them, at least. She looked at the faces, the mouths, then down at her hands...her voice.

She had been born that way; using her hands instead of her mouth, moving lips making more sense than the words they're moving to form. Sure, she was different, but she was wise, graceful, creative.

When you're robbed of a right you never had, you see that right in different forms, and while Meg continued to focus on her hands, her freedom, she felt less restricted than she ever had in her life.

Being deaf wasn't an issue. It was being restricted that Meg feared the most, but deafness...

It gave her wings.

Now, listen. Don't just listen to what's apparent to you. Really listen. Notice the TV in another room, your little brother playing with Lego's. Notice the wind causing the chimes next door to sing.

You know, these days they call that noise pollution? They make laws restricting how much noise and individual can produce.

"Turn down your music."
"Stop yelling so loud."
"Go play drums in someone else's garage."

Noise is beautiful. Make tons of it. Of course, be considerate or whatever, but realize when you scream at the top of your lungs, or sing so loud in your shower that the neighbors hear you, that you've got a gift. A common gift, more or less, but a gift just the same.

Meet Meg...again, kind of.

Twenty-two. Five feet, five inches tall. Thin, but not tiny. Brown eyes. Brown hair. Freckles. Fair skin. Normal. Her difference? She creates words with wrists and fingers, palms and knuckles. I assume you'd guessed this already.

Meggyn Elizabeth Bradbury was born without a voice, and without a sound.


Sun? Rise and Shine? "Oh, what a beautiful morning?"

Meg wanted to kill the person who coined those phrases. She wasn't interested in "shining" on a morning so far from "beautiful". Snow. She hated it. It's dull grey tint as it was shoveled by man and machine to the side of the dirty street made her ache for warmth, and another hour of sleep.

But no, not today. As a teacher at the Chicago School for the Hearing Impaired, she knew that even though six forty-five in the morning wasn't her favorite time of day, she was going to have to face its ugliness eventually.

A wool skirt. An argyle vest. Black Mary Jane's. Her black coat that made her look as innocent as an American Girl doll. Blush, mascara, chap stick, keys, purse, exit.

It wasn't a long process, but she wasn't a high-maintenance individual. Plus, who did she honestly have to impress on a day filled with kindergarten through seventh grade students? Exactly. No one.

Meggyn's morning routine was incomplete without a healthy dose of caffeine to the bloodstream. Nonfat, Pumpkin Latte. No whip, please and thank you. She was a frequent patron of Kennedy coffee, and basically had to walk-in, smile, and pay to receive her necessary cup of pumpkin heaven. Changing her order wasn't really an option. It took too much time, and don't even get me started on new baristas. It sends them home crying when they run into Meg and her silent need for a Pumpkin pick-me-up.

She just laughed.

This day, December first, two-thousand-and-five, should have been like any other day, but as you may have guessed by my use of the word "should", normal wasn't quite the word to describe this particular day of Meg's life.

Quite the contrary. How about...surprising? I vote yes, and my vote is the only vote that counts.
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