[ WP ] Everyone has one word that , when heard , instantly kills them . Nobody knows what their word is .

`` Stop it!'' I scream with every morsel of my body. `` Just stop it!'' I fling my arms around, hitting various parts of the same wall and leaving an array of wide dents. 
 
 `` Matthew, stop.'' My mother says calmly, attempting to steady my hands. `` Just stop.'' She knows those words are safe, as I've just uttered them. 
 
 `` I ca n't take it! I ca n't take another second of prison and hell with you. I'm sick of you keeping me at home. I'm sick of being stuck in the `` safe school'' - I hate it!'' I yell, throwing her arms off of my own and storming out of my room. 
 
 She follows frantically, trying to calm me down with every step. She mouths desperately `` Stop'', `` relax'', and `` please'', her eyes watering more by the second. `` Careful!'' She says aloud, immediately covering her mouth after. 
 
 `` CAREFUL!'' I scream. `` I'm fucking sick of being careful. I do n't give a damn anymore mom!'' This time I finish my sentence with the loudest yelp I can possibly force out of my lungs. The feeling of the noise hitting the air feels amazing, electrifying, thrilling. I want to hear my voice again and again and again and never have it stop. I want to yell to the neighbors across the street and run around town screaming every word I've ever learned to write and sign in sign language. I scream until I ca n't here the metallic noise-makers that are placed all over the house. I'm sick of them providing noise for me. I decide to make it myself. 
 
 I run around the house, smashing lamps, pushing over chairs, and yelling every word I can think of. 
 
 `` I hate you!'' I scream at my mother. `` Everyone else gets the chance to risk it. They abide by basic language rules and they risk it. They know that out of millions of words, there's likely wo n't be common. But not us. We're part of the fucking elite core, are n't we mom? We've got to be better than the rest. We've got to live longer, more boring lives!'' 
 
 `` Stop, honey, please.'' She cries, picking up pieces of broken glass. 
 
 `` AVOCADO. APPLE. TERMITE. INDIGENOUS.'' I shout. I start randomly, then go through a pattern, keeping a mental note in my head of what I can and ca n't say. I want to test every word, to build a vocabulary that at least I can use at home. I start with every noun I can and shout, at the top of my lungs, as though being murdered. Then the vowels, the adjectives, the adverbs. I shout them all. Over a half hour I shout over my crying mother, never stopping, never worrying. It feels freeing. 
 
 Then I walk to the window, my rage beginning to calm itself, and sigh the happiest and most relieved sigh of my life. `` I can speak.'' I say aloud for the first time ever. But I pause for just a moment. 
 
 In the yard across from us sits an old man, one I've always imagined has a deep, yet friendly voice. One that could make you want to talk to him for hours, but one that I've never heard. He sits on the edge of his deck, his head in his hands, motionless. 
 
 At first I'm confused. In nineteen years I have never seen him sit on that deck - hell, I've rarely seen him use it. And here he is, sitting with his wife's head on his shoulder, a sunset behind him, and his head in his hands. 
 
 It takes another moment before I realize that she's lifeless, and only another before I realize that it was my screaming.
