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My Name Is Mallory, And I Speak For Those Who Can't

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“My name is Mallory and I speak for those who can’t. Those who can speak, do speak, whether through voice, or song, or literature, or art. They all have a voice. They all use their voice. But what about those that don’t? Those who don’t have a voice but have something to say? My name is Mallory and I speak for them. Please help me speak for all those who can’t. Donate to the Madison Davis cause right outside the main doors, and you could be giving a voice to a child in need. Thank you.”

The crowd erupted in applause. It sounded like a volcano spitting out hot orange magma. The faces, the eyes, the looks, were all staring at her. But she didn’t mind. She liked people staring at her.
I don’t know why. How can you feel comfortable when people are looking at you, forming opinions on how your mouth twitches before you talk, or how you play with your hair and fidget when someone is speaking to you? How can you feel comfortable when people who you don’t know form opinions and conclusions about you in less then a second? What if you have a voice, but want someone else to use it for you. Is it still your voice? Is it still your words? Does Mallory speak for me?
No. She doesn’t. I technically have a voice. I can use it. I just choose not to. When I am gone, and I have never used my voice, will they know what I wanted to say? There are people who speak for everybody. People like Mallory, who speak for those who physically can’t speak. People like the president, who speaks for the country. People like parents who speak for small children. But I am not a child. I am not a country. I am not without a voice. But who will speak for me?




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