They wouldn't listen.

The sounds came from her throat. They were sculpted into words by her tongue and teeth and they fell from her mouth into the ears of a deaf audience. And they would smile and patronize and fuss over her ability to do this. They would hear her- but they wouldn't listen.

I'm strong, I'm capable, I can do this.

Why wouldn't they listen?

Her words, her words—what was wrong with her words?

Or, more accurately…

What was wrong with her audience?

Why was what she had to say disregarded? Was it unimportant? Didn't it matter? Because she was blind, her opinion had no meaning? Why wouldn't they believe her? Why wouldn't they understand?

Why wouldn't they listen?

And so she shut herself away, and ceased to speak.

She wouldn't listen.

Why would she listen? Because this boy, this one little boy, with his footsteps so light and his voice so loud, had asked her to? Never. Because this boy, this one little boy, had taken from her this one place where she could throw those sculpted words around, fling them from her throat. He who had humiliated her and shamed her and acted as if her taunts, her stinging words had not affected him. And he'd done all this to her because he wanted her to listen to him.

She refused to.

And she slammed that wall of rock up between herself and him, herself and the stadium, herself and the rest of the world—because their cheers were so loud and their laughing was so vibrant and she just didn't want to listen.

He won't listen.

It's dark. It's so completely dark. And having lived all her life in darkness, you wouldn't think that this would scare Toph Bei Fong. But it did, because this darkness was different- it was everywhere. All around her, smothering, stifling, and she breathed it in and it filled her lungs, choking her. This darkness, absolute, complete darkness—it was terrifying. She screamed. It wasn't a sound that was made in her throat and sculpted by her mouth (a mouth that was no longer there). It was a vicious, piercing sound that came from deep within her and was then flung out to fend for itself in the darkness- and she hoped against hope that it wouldn't get lost in the black oblivion and that maybe, somehow, hopefully, it would find it's way to his ears. And that when it did, he would listen.

Was this payback? She wondered. For that one time, when they first met, and she had not listened to him? It could be. After all, he had always listened to her. Whether she was confiding in him, or advising him, or yelling at him, he would always listen to what she had to say. Was it because he understood what it was like, to not have a voice? Or was it simply because he knew she needed it? Either way, she was grateful for what he had done. He had taken her quiet whisper and turned it into a huge roar. Without him, she reflected, she wouldn't be her.

And in that darkness she stopped screaming and with her carefully sculpted words she said the same thing, over and over and over again.

Please, please, please. Just listen.

HOLY CRABCAKES ON THE BACK OF A PONY I haven't posted anything in a while. Or written anything at all, really. So this is a little...er, all over the place. ^^;

MY FINGERS ARE FREEZING.

And look at all those randomly italic-ed words. *whistles*