A/Ns: To commemorate today, I give you the generic "April 18th, 2007's Day of Silence®" FMA fic. Read. Educate yourself. "Speaking Card" text © to whomever it does belong to (i.e., Not me). My apologies for the insensitive pun in the last chapter.

"Text" Talking regularly with one's voice.

Text Thinking.

"Text" Written words used for communication.

"Al, what's wrong?" I ask the next morning, glancing up at him.

Shaking his head, he produces a small index card from somewhere in his armor. Handing it to me, he points at the small paragraph typed on the paper:

"Please understand my reasons for not speaking today. I am participating in the Day of Silence, a national youth movement protesting the silence faced by lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people and their allies. My deliberate silence echoes that silence, which is caused by harassment, prejudice, and discrimination. I believe that ending the silence is the first step toward fighting these injustices. Think about the voices you are not hearing today.

What are you going to do to end the silence?"

"Huh," I murmur. "Is this why you got upset about the joke last night?"

A slight nod and subsequent squeaking.

"I was kidding," I say, "but I get your point. No more talking for me today, then. At least the Colonel should be happy," I say dryly. "He'll be able to talk with no interruptions."

Is it just me, or is it quieter than usual? I think Al's footsteps are echoing... even the colonel's office isn't this soundless... we'll see what's up...

Hawkeye's the first I see, with a silent wave of her hand, greeting both Al and me as I open the door. "Good afternoon," is what's written onthe piece of paper she hands us. Opening my mouth to talk, I hear my voice start to return the greeting, before catching myself. Much more difficult than I thought.

Gesturing for a pencil, I write something similar, as does Al. "The Colonel wants to talk to you." Riza writes, nodding her head in the direction of the colonel's desk-the colonel himself comically twitching as he scribbles out signature after signature.

"Colonel." I push the paper onto his desk, when clearing my throat doesn't seem to be doing the trick. The paper is yanked out of my hands, and almost signed along with all the other pieces of paperwork before he looks up.

"Fullmetal. Good to see you're back."

"Sure. What is it you wanted to talk to me about?" I write back, mildly surprised at the fact that he's taking part in this, like almost everyone else.

"Have you filed your paperwork, yet?"

Uh... I pause, hesitant to reply.

"No."

"Then I suggest you get started. Here." A stack of paper-it has to be several inches thick-lands in my arms, courtesy of the colonel himself.

I take in a breath of air, all the better to shout at him that I don't have time, when he taps the card on his desk, similar to what Al had shown me, and places a gloved finger to his lips, mimicking the motion of "shhhh".

"Fine. Give me a pen, will ya?" I scribbled out with a pencil.

He hands one over (probably lamenting that it wasn't his last one, so he wouldn't have to deal with his own paperwork), but not before writing "You're welcome, Fullmetal."

I wave off the remark, settling down to work. While I'm signing forms, filling in the page, I watch as several people come in during the hours, some talking, then reading the card, and staying quiet afterwards, conversing through the written word, while others remain silent throughout the exchange; others, though, talk before and after, keeping up a one-voiced conversation.

For some time, the scratching of pen on paper is all that's heard (besides Feury's voice on the telephone; he'd been declared the "spokesman" for the day, answering calls placed, and deflecting some of Hughes' random but silent appearances-save for the flapping of the photos he brandished).

Around the end of the afternoon, a knocking sound came at the door.

"Yes?" Feury asks, opening the door.

"Good early evening, everyone!" The voice of Fuhrer Bradley booms from outside in the hall. "Now... what are you all doing here?" He asks as he enters, a large plywood sign with "Hello, everyone:)" written on it. "Take a break, go home, get some sleep!"(1)

As everyone packs up to leave, a piece of paper is placed under my nose.

"Have a good evening, Edward."

"You too, colonel."

I tap Al on the forearm, motioning for us to leave with the rest of the group, while everyone else passes index cards around, I guess in order to say good night.

(1) Fuhrer Bradley's eccentricities make the world go 'round (my excuse for his behavior).