Junghan Alternate Ending

Junghan closed his eyes for a moment to breathe in the twilight; the smell of rain suffusing the air and admixing with the faint scent of cherry blossoms. He imagined the little petals blanketing the ground in light pink. He imagined the suns happiness leaking through scattered clouds. He imagined capturing the light in his hands and making it apart of himself that was always there.
But then Junghan opened his eyes again, and the image that played in his mind was nothing like what really lied in front of him. But life seemed to always be like that. It didn’t matter how hard he tried to dream something different, he knew that everything would always stay the same.
It was disappointing. Everything was disappointing if you had too many expectations.
He tried to ignore the fact that his pants would probably be soaked when he stood back up.
The boy offered him a stick of blue chalk from the pocket of his raincoat, to which Junghan took between his fingers. “My name is Chan, by the way!” the boy told him. “What’s yours?”
Junghan wrote his name against the pavement, and Chan took a moment to read each of the letters, sounding them aloud. “Jung…han…” he said, smiling once he’d finally gotten out the syllables. “I like that name!”
It only took five minutes for Junghan to conclude that Chan talked a lot, and asked far too many questions. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he had been interrogated so intently, and it was unfortunate that all he could do in response was nod, shake his head, or write down an answer if the question was particularly tricky.
After several poorly draw flowers and stick-figures, Chan caught onto his silence and asked; “Why aren’t you talking?”
Through writing, Junghan explained that he couldn’t speak. Chan had been genuinely confused. “Why? Are you like Ariel? Did an evil sea-witch take away your
But instead he shook his head for what felt like the millionth time that afternoon and explained that he was just born that way.
“…Is it annoying?” Chan asked. “Because I really like talking, and when people tell me to be quite it’s annoying.”
Junghan smiled. ‘Sometimes it can be.’ he wrote.
Sometimes it was hard being silent. It was hard when you really, really wanted to say something, but all of your words were imprisoned in a cage. It was hard when you wanted to sing at the top of your lungs, or scream until you ribs shook, or laugh until your stomach ached when you knew you couldn’t do any of it.
It was hard being unheard, sometimes.
It hurt being unheard,