Hair is pushed back over ears that only hear the muted echoes from within. Fingers fold into the creases of palms, as white barren knuckles quiver in rage. Toes tap not to a rhythm, but rather rising punches from the chest. Nails have been chewed off and hammered into the walls of gut wrenching fear. Eyes dart around the room hitting the tops of stucco walls and the bottoms of souls. They hit everything except the world that does not understand. The world does not speak the language without translation. The world does not listen to the language without words.