Language Barrier
By Amanda Firefox
“Ilyeg” The man says as he holds up the apple, then repeats “Ilyeg.”
I shake my head, but say the word anyway. The therapists had said that the strange language everyone had started speaking since I’d cracked my skull open in that accident was English, but it didn’t sound like English, didn’t sound like any language I’d ever heard on earth.
“Ghat lo Ilyeg ha lo Yvinde.” He puts the apple on a nearby table, gestures. The class follows suit. “Ghat lo Ilyeg ha lo Yvinde.”
It was weird, going to classes like this, classes called “Terhilldan Kvramb Derakkan” (English Learner Classes) and learning what everyone said was English. There was no way it could be English; I’d spoken English before the accident, it’s the language I think in, always has been. This Terhilldan crap was something else entirely. But what?
The last thing I remember around the accident was being tired. It was three AM, the highway was wet, and I was dragging ass after attending a bad poetry recital with a guy who was so into blowing his clove cigarette that he wouldn’t even fuck me after it was over. I remember rubbing my eyes, and then– the flash of steel. It just came out of nowhere, lights and chrome, wham! And then darkness. When I woke up, everyone was speaking this crazy language and no one could understand me. There were other subtle differences in the world I remembered, but I’ve spent enough time in therapy now to forget most of them. Only the language thing has lingered on, but the doctors said I’d accept it soon enough and forget about it as well. For now, I just sit here, bored and trying to catch up, wondering how much of this is real, and who or what is behind whatever of it is not.
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Amanda Firefox is a fiery little brunette who spends as much time at the beach as she can manage. She doesn't write much, but when she writes, it's almost always about her favorite subject: boys.
By Amanda Firefox
“Ilyeg” The man says as he holds up the apple, then repeats “Ilyeg.”
I shake my head, but say the word anyway. The therapists had said that the strange language everyone had started speaking since I’d cracked my skull open in that accident was English, but it didn’t sound like English, didn’t sound like any language I’d ever heard on earth.
“Ghat lo Ilyeg ha lo Yvinde.” He puts the apple on a nearby table, gestures. The class follows suit. “Ghat lo Ilyeg ha lo Yvinde.”
It was weird, going to classes like this, classes called “Terhilldan Kvramb Derakkan” (English Learner Classes) and learning what everyone said was English. There was no way it could be English; I’d spoken English before the accident, it’s the language I think in, always has been. This Terhilldan crap was something else entirely. But what?
The last thing I remember around the accident was being tired. It was three AM, the highway was wet, and I was dragging ass after attending a bad poetry recital with a guy who was so into blowing his clove cigarette that he wouldn’t even fuck me after it was over. I remember rubbing my eyes, and then– the flash of steel. It just came out of nowhere, lights and chrome, wham! And then darkness. When I woke up, everyone was speaking this crazy language and no one could understand me. There were other subtle differences in the world I remembered, but I’ve spent enough time in therapy now to forget most of them. Only the language thing has lingered on, but the doctors said I’d accept it soon enough and forget about it as well. For now, I just sit here, bored and trying to catch up, wondering how much of this is real, and who or what is behind whatever of it is not.
- - -
Amanda Firefox is a fiery little brunette who spends as much time at the beach as she can manage. She doesn't write much, but when she writes, it's almost always about her favorite subject: boys.
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