Abneer sat amongst his companions and loyal listeners after their long day of work.
“Gather around,” he spoke to them, and the loud men of Kabi obeyed. For when Abneer speaks, a man adheres to his words. They closed their eyes and opened their ears to the grandiose and seemingly impossible stories of Abneer.
He spoke for hours, of the times in his youth when he battled the great Bengal tiger though he had only one working leg. He spoke of the tiger’s monstrous jaws and teeth- a sight none of the Kabi men could begin to imagine, and depicted how he was able to hear the tiger’s padded paws touch the ground even before the wind picked up its scent. Abneer illustrated to them the occasion on which he hiked every peak of the Himalayan Mountain’s, and how he almost lost his entire hand when he slipped and caught it between a glacier and a rock. He hung there, stranded for twenty-seven hours (he was able to count the hours by the placement of the sun and the moon in the sky- a skill very few would ever hope of attaining).
After the frigid temperatures crept into Abneer’s brave body and contributed to one of the most unbearable days of his life, an elderly Sherpa discovered him. He heard the slow, steady footsteps of the Sherpa even before the snow was imprinted with the tread of his solid boot. The Sherpa, recognizing that he, a lowly trail guide was in the presence of a man with god-like perseverance and fortitude, invited Abneer into his home. There, they sat around a warm fire which thawed Abneer’s frozen fingers back to life and the Sherpa- his name not remembered by Abneer- praised him until the break of day. When the sun peaked over the Great Mountains, and the lion of adventure pressed its warm heavy paw upon his chest, Abneer decided that as he did the Bengal tiger, he must conquer the beast named Mount Everest. And so he did.
Abneer was a new man to the village of Kabi, and the villagers were never more honored than to have him in their village: a man who claimed to have so many outrageous accomplishments and successes. But what they loved more than anything about Abneer was his story telling. His stories were always magnificent, awe-inspiring tales, which depicted Abneer’s inhuman bravery and accomplishments.
Many times, Abneer’s stories would appear out of nowhere. Like a snake in the grass, his tales would slide through the blades of villagers, almost undetectable until the timely moment when they would attack, leaving in their wake the villager’s open-mouths and wonderstruck faces. One moment, a Kabi woman was selling her head wrappings at the flea market and the next, Abneer was beside her, advising her about his days of yore, when a sole wrapping saved him from sliding off the coastal cliffs of Cox’s Bazar, or when he single handedly defeated two boisterous thugs who were harassing a woman on the street with a simple flick of his wrist and a crack of the deafening wrapping-turned-whip.
The people of the village sat smiling and eager, looking at Abneer with eyes as wide as a child’s as he shared the incredible and roaring tales of his life. The people often wondered how this could all be true, considering Abneer’s young age and seemingly wrinkle-less face. He did not appear to be one who had lived through many dangers or faced many enemies. The villagers deduced that perhaps like a snake sheds its skin, Abneer shed the skin of his own life, revealing underneath a deceptive freshness that can only be acquired through the accomplishment of many feats. They wouldn’t dare doubt Abneer: he presented himself with such thundering authority, and besides who were these lowly, farming Kabi people to decide whether or not this man was legitimate? For his chin lay higher than his head it seemed.
On this night, as Abneer concluded telling the story of the Sherpa and the Great Mountains, the people heard a frightening roar of an incredible creature from the forest surrounding their village.
“Save us Abneer!” cried the men, but Abneer simply stared at the commotion, a confused look upon his face.
“Save us!” the men cried, louder this time, unable to grasp why Abneer was not going to fight the beast and instead sat by the fire as though he had not heard even an echo.
“Perhaps he acts calm to show his strength!” one villager yelled, and the rest quickly agreed, for Abneer was known for his stoicism in ominous situations. The rest of the men retreated to their homes, safe from the foreboding roar of the creature, assuming Abneer was remaining outside to keep watch and protect the village.
Outside, a young boy approached Abneer and pulled on the sleeve of his shirt.
“Abneer?” the boy named Asseff asked. Abneer looked down at the boy.
“Did you say something to me?” he inquired.
Incredulous to the idea that Abneer did not hear him, the boy exclaimed, “Yes! Great Abneer, yes! Did you not hear me?”
Abneer, unable to understand the boys hushed words, shook his head and slunk away back to his hut, confused by the encounter.
The next day, after a fitful night’s sleep, Abneer approached the market, looking for opportunities to enlighten people with the stories of his life. As he walked down the aisles of the marketplace, the villagers quietly clapped him on the back and thanked him for protecting the village. A young girl even ran up and gave Abneer a special clay snake. He rubbed his thumbs over its scaly body, pausing slightly over the holes where the snake’s ears are.
The marketplace did not seem as lively as usual. The normal clanging of silverware during lunch-hour was dulled, and the children’s laughter chimed less musically. Made uncomfortable by the quiet, Abneer announced that he was going to speak and that everyone should gather. He loved the way he sounded when he spoke, the path his breath took as it moved in and out of his lungs, leading a beautiful and colorful tale trailing behind it. It excited the faces around him and affirmed how he viewed himself. To Abneer, a man without a voice was hardly a man at all.
However, even the reverberation of his own voice seemed muffled today, as if it was caught in the echo of his rib cage, beating softly with his heart. He spoke of his views on political matters of the day, and everyone around him nodded in agreement at his wisdom. However, he noticed that as he spoke, the people appeared anxious and they seemed to be scooting farther away from him. They even winced as he emphasized certain words, as if he were speaking too loudly. This angered Abneer because when he spoke, he wanted people to listen to him as intently as he listened to himself. However, he disregarded their reactions, and continued his stories.
When he finally finished, the people silently scurried away, off to finish their daily duties. This is when Abneer noticed young Asseff, beckoning him with a quiet hand. Asseff’s green eyes glinted with something Abneer could not fully put his highly experienced finger on. Abneer waltzed over to Asseff on silent feet, his chin held higher than his head, attempting to compensate for Asseff’s questioning of him the night before. Abneer normally did not pay much attention to the people of the village, but Asseff seemed to draw him like a moth to a flickering light. As he approached Asseff, the boy’s lips curved into a sly, slithering smile.
“Hello Abneer,” the boy stated with quiet confidence and a grinning chin. Abneer, surprised at the boy’s direct address of him (usually Abneer did most of the talking), nodded at Asseff respectfully. “I have a request” Asseff continued, “I would like for you to listen to a story of mine.”
Abneer shook with excitement, this was the perfect opportunity for him to impart his wisdom on young Asseff and show him how true story telling should be accomplished. Abneer, before Asseff could spit out a single word, sunk his teeth into in to a long tangent about how once, many years ago he studied under the greatest storyteller in all of Asia, which explained his obvious skill in the pastime. Asseff listened dutifully with the same slithering smile as Abneer described the great kingdoms in which he was taught to enunciate his words and emphasize his stories correctly. When Abneer concluded his tale, Asseff looked at him expectantly.
“Thank you for your story, Abneer, but may I share mine now?”
Abneer, not desiring to hear the likely amateur, anticlimactic, and boring ramblings of a school boy, briskly stood from his seat and told Asseff,
“My apologies Asseff, it is late! Perhaps another time”
The sun hung high in the sky.  As Abneer began his silent retreat back towards his home and his sandals softly treaded the muddy earth, he thought he could hear a faint whisper sliding after him. Unsure of the meaning and unclear of the words being said, Abneer quickened his pace.  His footsteps grew quieter. Still, like a persistent wind, the voice followed him, demanding to be heard and resounding in his being. The surging echo engulfed him:

“Speech excited the fool’s heart,
inside his wisdom lessens,
to listen is a tender art,
without which ears may deafen”

When Abneer awoke the next day, he found it strange that the birds on this beautiful may morning were not chirping. Abneer noiselessly ran to his washing room to ready himself for the day; excited to be able to share with even more people about himself. He was so expectant of the praise and worship he would receive from the villagers that he didn’t notice the silence his shoes encountered as they stomped out the grounds of his home and into the village center.
“Everyone!” he said, but he was shocked as all the heads turned his way, for to him his voice sounded only above a whisper. He cleared his throat and tried once again, “Everyone!!” he tried to yell, but to no avail: for his own ears perceived his voice as even quieter the second time. He didn’t notice that people crouched away from him and covered their ears. For he was far too preoccupied with the way he sounded when he spoke, and all he wanted was to hear himself.
“EVERYONE!” he called a third time, utilizing every single drop of air he held in his lungs to push forth the three small syllables. Children’s faces contorted as they ran away, tears rolling down their cheeks and hands cupping their ears. Abneer’s voice continued to roll off his tongue, his throat growing raw. The people became noticeably upset. Why was this man yelling so loudly? Could he not hear the deafening roar of his own voice?
However,  Abneer heard not even a hiss of his own voice. Villager’s faced him and shook their fists. Everyone appeared angry with him. “But what for?” he thought. 
His mind reeled and he opened his mouth once again in hopes of hearing himself, only to be disappointed by the complete silence ringing in his own ears.
The villagers ran away. The pained sound of a man’s outrageous shriek chased them as they fled.

Asseff sat on the stoop of his house scratching the helix of a scaled figure into the sand.

The sun set on Kabi.

A man stood lonely in the center of the village, screaming.