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MidReal Story
The Silent King
Scenario:To my confusion. I lost the ability to talk. My family and my older sisters and brother and even my close friends and extended family all seem happy about it. They all talk down to me and make me feel little. Of course, I didn't know that this whole thing was a prank they were doing to just make me build confidence to face hardships. I don't see it that way as I'm slowly starting to lose my emotions also. It's only too late when they realize the error of their ways.
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Ethan
He is a young man who lost his ability to speak due to a prank by his family. He is sensitive, intelligent, and resilient. Ethan struggles with the loss of his voice and the subsequent social isolation it brings. His family, except for his younger sister, treats him poorly after the prank goes too far. He experiences deep emotional pain, loss, and loneliness. However, he learns to adapt and form new connections with others who have similar experiences.
Ella
She is Ethan's younger sister who shows empathy towards him. She is caring, gentle, and supportive. Ella is one of the few who genuinely understands Ethan's struggles after he loses his voice. She tries to communicate with him through gestures and writing. Her kindness brings solace to Ethan during his difficult times. Her relationship with him strengthens as they both face challenges together, forming a bond based on mutual understanding and support.
Ethan's Family
mixed. They are Ethan's relatives who initially play a prank on him but take it too far. They are thoughtless, harsh, and dismissive. Initially, they intend to help Ethan gain confidence by making him lose his voice, but their plan backfires when they fail to support him afterward. They treat him poorly after the loss of his speaking ability, except for Ella. Their actions deeply affect Ethan, leading to feelings of rejection and isolation.
I still remember the day I lost my voice.
It was all a big joke, or so I thought.
My family, older sisters, brother, and even my close friends and some of my extended family members decided to play a prank on me.
The idea was simple: make me lose my ability to speak for a day.
They succeeded, but the prank went too far and had lasting consequences.
I never spoke again after that day.
No one expected it to happen, not even the magicians who cast the spell.
They didn't think it would be permanent, but they were wrong.
The worst part was that no one in my family, except for my younger sister Ella, seemed to care about what happened to me.
They all thought it was funny at first and even scolded me for not taking the joke well.
When they realized I wasn't speaking, they just shrugged it off and left me alone.
I was confused and didn't know what was happening to me.
I tried to talk, but my mouth would open and close, but nothing came out.
I thought maybe I was just hoarse or had a cold, so I waited for a few days.
When nothing changed, I started to get worried and even tried writing down what I wanted to say.
It was difficult and embarrassing for me.
My family treated me like an idiot and made fun of me even more than before.
Sitting at the dinner table, I watch as my family members chat and laugh while passing dishes of food around.
My brother tells another joke at my expense, and everyone laughs except for Ella.
The food in my mouth tastes bitter, and I swallow it down with difficulty.
I grip my fork tightly, my knuckles turning white.
I can feel the anger building inside me, and I know I'm about to explode.
Suddenly, I stand up abruptly, knocking over my chair in the process.
My mouth opens wide in a silent scream, and my face turns red with effort.
The table falls silent, and everyone stares at me in shock.
Mom's fork clatters against her plate, and Dad looks away uncomfortably.
My oldest sister whispers something about me being dramatic, but only Ella reaches out to touch my trembling hand.
I walk away, leaving behind the echoes of their laughter and my silence.
In my room, I grab my notebook and pen.
My hands are shaking with rage, but the words flow onto the paper.
They're messy and uneven, but clear as day.
I write about how they destroyed my trust, how their laughter cuts deeper than any knife.
I tell them how their prank revealed their true nature, how they chose to mock me instead of understanding.
I detail every mocking comment, every dismissive glance, every moment they chose cruelty over compassion.
And then I write their names, one by one, each stroke of the pen a declaration of my anger and hurt.
But when I reach Ella's name, my writing softens.
I acknowledge her kindness amidst their toxicity, her attempts to reach out and understand.
The final lines are firm: they've broken something that can never be fixed.
I slam the notebook shut and march downstairs.
Ella meets me at the bottom of the stairs, her eyes filled with concern.
"Please, just tell me what you're thinking," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the clatter from the dining room.
I hand her the notebook, pointing to the page where I've poured out my heart, and watch as her eyes widen with understanding and resolve.
My heart pounds in my chest as Ella grips my hand tightly, leading me back down the hallway.
The light from the dining room spills onto the carpet, and I can hear the clinking of dishes and casual chatter.
My family hasn't even noticed our absence.
Ella squeezes my hand one last time before we step into the room.
She holds up my notebook, her voice trembling but firm as she announces that she needs everyone's attention.
The room falls silent.
Dad puts down his coffee, Mom stops mid-sentence, and my older siblings turn to stare.
Ella begins to read, her voice carrying the words I wrote in my journal.
The room is so silent now, as if they're all holding their breath.
My mother's face pales as Ella reads about how their "harmless" prank made me feel worthless and alone.
My brother shifts uncomfortably in his chair as Ella reads about how he constantly mocks me, making me feel like an outsider.
Dad grips his coffee cup tighter, his knuckles turning white, as Ella reads about how his silence enabled their cruelty.
I stand behind Ella, my hands clenched into fists, watching as their expressions change from dismissal to shock to shame.
When Ella reaches the part where I write that she's the only one who's ever been kind to me, her voice cracks.
She pauses for a moment before continuing.
Ella takes a deep breath, her eyes meeting mine briefly before she speaks again.
"I can't stand by and watch this anymore," she says, her voice steady despite the tears in her eyes.
"If you love him, you need to show it, not just say it."
I watch as Mom rises slowly from her chair, her hands gripping the edge of the table as if she needs it to hold herself up.
Her eyes are welling up with tears, smearing her mascara down her cheeks.
The room stays completely silent as she takes small steps towards me, her usual confident stride replaced with a hesitant shuffle.
She reaches out to grab my hands, but I step back, pressing myself against the wall.
The memory of her laughing at my silence is still too fresh in my mind.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice cracking.
"We never meant to hurt you. We thought it was just a harmless prank, but we were wrong. We were so wrong."
Her words sound sincere, but I can't bring myself to look at her face.
Instead, I stare at the floor, my hands clenched into fists.
"We should have listened to you," she continues, her voice breaking as she speaks through tears.
Ella steps forward, her voice gentle but firm.
"It's not just about listening; it's about understanding and changing," she says, glancing at each of them.
"We can't keep pretending everything's okay when it's not."
I lean against the dining room wall, watching as Ella stands in front of our family, her voice filled with determination.
"How can you sit here eating and laughing like nothing's wrong?" she demands, slamming my journal onto the table so hard that everyone flinches.
"Your own son, your own brother, is suffering!"
Mom tries to speak, but Ella cuts her off.
"No," she says, her voice rising.
"You need to listen. You need to understand what you've done."
Ella points at each of them in turn.
"You," she says to my brother.
"You make fun of him every morning at breakfast. You call him names and laugh at his stutter."
She turns to Dad.
"You pretend it's not happening. You pretend he's just being sensitive. But he's not. He's hurting."
She turns to Mom.
"And you," she says, her voice trembling with anger.
"You laugh along with them. You tell him it's just a joke. But it's not a joke. It's cruel."
My brother stares down at his plate, unable to meet Ella's gaze.
Dad shifts uncomfortably in his chair, his eyes darting between Ella and me.
Mom looks like she's about to cry again.
But Ella isn't finished yet.
She turns to face the whole family now, her voice ringing out across the room.
"This isn't just about one prank or one hurtful comment," she says.
"This is about a lifetime of pain and isolation. This is about feeling like you don't belong in your own family." I watch as my family members look away, unable to meet Ella's eyes.
They know she's right; they know they've been cruel and heartless.
But they don't want to admit it.
They don't want to take responsibility for their actions.
Ella takes a deep breath before continuing.
"I'm not asking you to be perfect," she says, her voice softer now but still full of conviction.
"I'm asking you to try. I'm asking you to be kind and compassionate and understanding. Because if you can't do that for your own son, your own brother, then what good are you?"
The room falls silent again as Ella finishes speaking.
I can feel my heart pounding in my chest as I watch my family members process her words.
My brother looks down at his plate, his face pale and ashamed.
Ella turns to me, her eyes softening.
"Do you want to say anything?" she asks gently.
I swallow hard, my voice barely above a whisper. "I just want to feel like I belong," I say, the words spilling out before I can stop them.