Disclaimer:
Marvel own him. And several other authors than Frank Miller has written DD stories and got paid by Marvel, but Frank Miller was the best. I know Stan Lee invented him, that doesn't matter.
Less movie and more comic book in this chapter, but even more of my own imagination.
Matt went to some sort of school, learning to handle his handicap, didn't he? A poor, Irish, catholic boy..... A charity school of some sort seems right. And where does Stick show up, if Matt didn't save him from being run down by that truck carrying containers of radioactive waste? Somehow he doesn't seem like a teacher you'd find at a catholic charity school, but he could be a janitor or a cleaner. So, there you are, and here is my masterpiece. Read and enjoy. And review, please.
That language thing......
English is a foreign language to me, even though I've learned it for a long time. And I've still only got an American spell-check program. Please, tell me about major mistakes :-)
Chapter 2:
The boy found his way from the bedroom to the bathroom and back without any stumbling. His father watched him from the kitchen, and called his name as he reappeared in the bedroom door. "Mathew, are you all right? Do you need anything?" Mathew shock his head. "No. I found it." He held up a brown envelope, opened it and picked out a sheet of heavy white paper. "Dad...." For the first time there was a hint of uncertainty in Matt's voice. The top half of the page was printed, but the bottom half.... The father, Battlin' Jack Murdock, could not hear the soft sigh of his son. The bottom half of the page was written in Braille.
From:
Sta. Cecilia's institute for the visually impaired
To:
Mr. Mathew Murdock and his guardians.
We are glad to inform you, that Mr. Mathew Murdock has been admitted to our institute. Please report to the headmaster's office on your arrival.....
.......
The letter continued for another paragraph or so. Matt listened to his father's voice as he read but he did not pay much attention. Santa Cecilia's institute for the visually impaired was run on charity, but the nuns and teachers would provide what Matt knew he needed. How to read, to find his way, to cross a street, to live his life. And maybe even to manage these thundering noises that invaded his ears at all hours. How to use this black-on-black, almost-like-seeing sound. Jack had finished reading the letter, and dropped it on the kitchen table with a small flopping sound. Matt picked it up and touched the page. The Braille stood out clearly, even if Matt could not read what it said. But he could also feel the printed text. Small, irregular imprints....
The next morning Matt walked to Sta. Cecilia's, lead by the hand by his father. It wasn't long before he had a splitting headache, and the cars, buses, and motorcycles sounded like they were going to run them down every second. Only his father's big, warm and safe hand kept Matt from panicking and freezing stiff in the middle of a street. It wasn't more than twenty three days since the accident that had blinded him, and this was his first adventure outside his own safe rooms. This walk felt like it lasted for hours, like they walked many miles, but they got there. Open a gate, up five steps, in through a door, and there they were. Indoors. Safe.
At the headmaster's office, Jack signed some papers, agreeing to the terms of Matt's education. The first eight weeks were paid for by a grant, after that time tuition fees were...., increasing to...., to be paid at...., and did not include..... "And then, Mathew, let's find your equipment." Matt turned towards the teacher, and was handed books, a frame and stylus for writing Braille, a small cassette recorder and some audio tapes, and a cane. He crammed most of the things into his school bag, but he kept the cane in his hand. "Most of our students started their autumn term several weeks ago, so you'll just have to be fitted into classes. Just follow me. And you, Mr. Murdock, you can pick up your son at four this afternoon. " And once again Matt was lead by the hand into the unknown.
The days went past, one like the other. Every morning Matt was lead by the hand to school, and every afternoon he was picked up again. Classes were noisy and confusing, and finding his way or learning new things went painfully slow. It seemed to Matt that no one else were troubled by the thundering noises like he was. And every other child at school seemed to have more friends than they needed already. No one were cruel to Matt, they simply didn't care whether he was there or not. Until one afternoon when he waited for his father to pick him up.
Matt sat at the doorstep. The gates in front of him gave a small, squeaking sound as the wind pushed them to and froe. Matt could almost see them. The branches of the trees by the fence swayed and creaked, dead leaves rustled along the walls and in the corner below the front stairs. He tapped his cane carefully against the steps. The echo told him that the walls and floor in the corridor behind him were smooth and hard. There were openings, doors, at regular intervals. And something, someone, was standing perfectly still, watching him. Or maybe listening?
"You're the new one, I've been noticing you. Unlike most of the kids here, you listen, even if you don't really know how." It was the voice of a grown man, and not one of the teachers that Matt had met. The voice sounded confident and, not old, but like it belonged to a man that had lived for some time. Matt turned his head towards the man, waiting to hear what came next. He was not prepared for the slap, but somehow he sensed it coming, and managed to avoid most of it. "What the f*! Why on Earth did you do that!" Matt was really upset. This maniac was attacking a defenseless blind child! "You avoided most of it, didn't you? Why didn't you stop me?" Yeah, as if this goon should take credit for his, Matt's, good ears, and whatever that black-on-black sound was. "I happen to be blind, you moron! I can't see what you are doing!"
"You are blind, all right, but you are not deaf. You might be stupid, though I really doubt that. I've heard how you never fall over chairs in the cafeteria or bags in the classrooms. I hear how you flinch at sharp noises, how your heart races at sounds no one else can hear." Oh, my, this man was good. Wait a moment.... He'd heard all this stuff? Heartbeats? "And I'll wager," the man continued, "quite a sum, that you'd be able to see the sound with some coaching." Matt sat stiff as a post, listening with all his body. "By your reaction, I'd guess you're already at least halfway there." Matt's heart pounded. He cleared his voice, but still he only managed a small whisper. "You know how...? Can you teach me?"
And that was the beginning of a rather peculiar kind of friendship.