A young boy of possibly nine walked silently towards a house. It was half past three, the time you would expect a boy to be walking home from school. It was your average day twelfth of April, 2004, in London, England. The young boy had reddish-brown hair that appeared to be a pile of down feathers from a hawk. His eyes were a brilliant green, and he appeared of average height and weight.

He opened the door to the house, after having glanced at the driveway for cars. Guessing that the cars were parked inside the garage, he pressed the doorbell before stepping in the house completely. He heard no answer, therefore walking in the house with a slightly worried look.

The young boy silently set his backpack on the ground as he closed to door and started to walk towards a room. He knocked several times on the door frame, not getting an answer from anybody, if there was anybody home.

The phone rang from the room next to the one the boy currently stood in, forcing him to blink and walk into the other room, listening silently to the ringing of the phone. He bit his lip slightly and walked into the room, gently picking the phone up, breathing as loudly into it as he could through his teeth. Tears formed in his eyes as he stood silently with the phone to his ear.

"I'm so sorry, Taman...I'm really sorry...I found out a few hours ago...They...Kelly and Charles...You parents...." a woman was sobbing on the other side of the phone, obviously upset. "They...Were killed in a car crash...I'm terribly sorry, Taman! I wanted to tell you sooner...But I guessed of when you would have got home...I had to be the one to tell you...I'm so sorry I can't be there in person right now..." The woman's voice cracked and sobs came from the other end.

The boy, who's name was Taman, hung up the phone, tears rolling down his cheeks rapidly. He fell to his knees, but brought them to his chest, burying his face in his arms. He shook harshly, sobs rattling his figure. He wished he could produce more sound than breath, which was just barely audible in itself. He'd been a mute since he was born and was stuck with it till he died.

For lack of screaming, he shook even more with silent sobs. Why his parents?! Why didn't they leave earlier to beat the crash?! Why did they go that day, not the day before?! So many questions Taman had screaming in his head, but he didn't have anybody to hear them. He cried harder, fully aware that there wasn't anybody to hold him close and tell him it would be alright.

What would he do for school? He couldn't just skip it and pretend everything was alright. He couldn't go without having the teachers be all pitiful on him or any of the students mocking him about being teacher's pet.

He was the best student in his class, too, which was another reason he couldn't skip. His parents had decided against sending him to a private school for mutes, mostly for the cost, but also because he would only get to know mutes that had probably had a voice before - they wouldn't understand him fully. But with public school he got to know people who sympathized for him, were friendly to him. And then there were people who didn't care at all. He wanted everything to end. Just end.

Then the phone rang again. He lifted his head, tears still falling down his cheeks. He carefully stood up and picked up the phone, not bothering to try and make sound - his breathing created enough through his clenched teeth and anger towards the phone. Currently the phone was only a bearer of bad news.

"Taman Daniels; age nine; birthday, April thirteenth, nineteen-ninety-five; parents death at eleven thirty five AM on April twelfth, two-thousand-four; several grades higher than his classmates; mute since birth," the voice called gently through the phone. The voice was elderly, calm. "my name is Quillsh Wammy, founder of Wammy's House, the orphanage for gifted children, located in Winchester, England. You are welcome to get adjusted to being alone for a year exactly. once that year has passed, I will personally escort you to Wammy's House on your birthday. By being at Wammy's House, you earn a nickname. Everybody at Wammy's House has a nickname of their own. Yours will be...Thought."

Taman blinked back more tears as the line went dead on him. Someone actually was out there, looking after him somehow. One year wasn't that bad. A year to realize his parents weren't coming back. A year to think about a new home. A new start. A year for new friends like him. A new beginning. Right?