¡CÁLLATE LA BOCA!
Mute Screams.
Hii everyone, I'm Humansleep. This time I want to post my work again in the Alien Art Hive community. And here I will also share a work process whether it's drawing or sketching that I will later do as an effort to be seen and appreciated.
The Orcs say this region is a democracy, but whenever there is a loud and outspoken voice, it is always silenced by any means necessary.
Too honest.
Too angry.
Too much asking, “Why is it like this?”
If they find out, they'll immediately be subjected to the Cállate la boca program.
Kidnapped, silenced, then eliminated. Made to disappear.
The mouth is still there.
The words are still in the head.
But the world pretends to be deaf.
The aliens arrived just as people were tired of shouting at the wall.
They descended slowly, as if they didn't want to disturb us. They looked ordinary. Not cool. Not scary. They even looked a bit like walking street lamps. They didn't ask to be worshipped. They didn't carry weapons or offer us any weapon technology.
They just said:
“We hear you.” It was the most dangerous sentence of the year.
In the city, dissidents could no longer speak. Demonstrations still took place, but they were silent. Posters were blank. Protest songs were just melodies in people's heads.
On the other hand, in the underground headquarters, the rebel aliens who had arrived earlier gathered with the resistance Leonin and sat in a circle around a bonfire, teaching strange things and devising strategies to fight the orcs.
Chaotic Orc smiled.
“See? Peace.”
The alien shook his head slowly.
“This is not peace,” he said.
“These are voices forced to hold their breath together.”
That night, the alien began to help and teach the leonins in strange ways and with strange things.
They teach how to scream through footsteps—millions of shoes walking in unison. The streets tremble. Sensors go haywire.
They teach how to rage through the light in their eyes—a glare that makes cameras go crazy.
They teach how to scream through memory—images of the past projected into the air. Not slogans. Just fragments of life that make your chest tighten.
They taught us how to shout through togetherness—leonin—leonin stood close together, saying nothing, but feeling: I am not alone.
“On our planet,” said one of the aliens,
“the loudest voice is empathy.”
The Chaotic Orcs panicked.
The microphone was turned off.
It didn't matter.
The network was disconnected.
The Leonin - the Leonin kept going.
They didn't scream.
They were present. And that threw the system into chaos.
One night, a female leonin who had been silenced for a long time stood in the middle of the square. Her mouth kept muttering, but silently. But her chest heaved heavily.
The alien beside her turned her head, tilting it. “Ohh,” she said softly, “your main frequency has been cut off.”
The female leonin quickly wrote on the stone: “We want to scream, but we can't.”
The alien smiled slightly. “You still have many other frequencies to scream.” “In our galaxy,” said the alien, “sound doesn't just come out of the mouth.”
The city lights went out for a moment.
Then—a pulse.
Millions of hearts in sync.
One rhythm.
One feeling.
No sound.
But all creatures knew: this was a scream. The Cállate la boca program wasn't broken.
It just became irrelevant.
Because it turns out, sound doesn't always come out of the mouth. Sometimes it comes out of footsteps. From memories.
From the courage to stand firm even when told to be quiet.
As the alien departed, a small leonin wrote on the wall of the spaceport: “Thank you for teaching us how to make noise without sound.”
The alien smiled.
“We didn’t teach you anything,” it said.
“You just forgot. We helped you remember.”
Chaotic Orcs still exist.
The problem is not over.
But now, every time they say: “Cállate la boca.”
The world responds,
without a single word—
and it's much louder.
POV Alien's.
field notes on the listener species
We did not come as helpers.
We came because something was too quiet.
The Earth was emitting a strange signal: not a scream, not a prayer, but the absence of sound in a place that should have been noisy. For our species, that was a sign of danger. The universe may be harsh, but enforced silence... that is always artificial.
They call it Cállate la boca.
A neat name. Like a command spoken with a smile.
These people are interesting.
Their mouths are silenced, but their minds are noisy.
We see it from orbit: hearts beating faster when they are angry, footsteps that are out of sync but full of meaning, eyes that scream louder than any voice.
Chaotic Orcs thought the sound stayed in their throats.
That was a classic mistake.
When we landed, the orc rulers trembled.
The rebels... were confused.
“They can't talk,” said one of the orc officials proudly.
“The city is quiet.”
Calm down, okay?
Like creatures who have held their breath for too long.
We met them in dark rooms. They sat silently, staring at each other, frustrated. A female leonin opened her mouth. No sound came out. She looked down, ashamed, angry.
We almost got angry too.
“Your voices are still there,” we said.
“You're just not allowed to use them the old way.”
Their eyes lifted.
We taught them simple things.
How to speak through rhythm—hearts in sync, confusing the machines.
How to shake through togetherness—a mass presence without a single shout.
How to shout through memory—showing what they wanted to erase.
They learned quickly. Too quickly for a species said to be primitive.
As millions of leonins stood silently in the square, we heard something beautiful.
Not a sound.
But courage.
The Chaotic Orc's sensors detected nothing. But the city trembled. Not physically—in meaning. That was far more dangerous.
We knew then: Cállate la boca had failed.
A small leonin stared at us. Its vocal cords were locked. It wrote in the air with its finger:
“If we can't speak, do we still exist?”
We answered honestly:
“You exist precisely because you want to speak.”
As we left, the leonins did not cheer. They stood. Silent. Together.
That's enough.
In our archives, we record Earth not as a planet of conflict,
but as a world relearning the meaning of voice.
Our final entry reads:
The leonin species cannot be saved by silencing them.
They can only survive if they are heard—
even when they utter not a single word.
And for the first time in a long while,
the silence on Earth felt... chosen,
not forced. 🌌👽
This work was created with ink on paper, using a pencil.
Sketch:
Outline:
This illustration depicts a loud and honest cry that has been forcibly silenced. Not only has the cry been silenced, but the soul has also been affected, intimidated.
When those voices are silenced and those souls are shackled/intimidated, alternative methods emerge with various frequencies and other strange things, in order to continue the resistance.
This is all I can say for right now, sorry if there are wrong words or my typing is not perfect.
Thank you for taking the time just to stop by and see my work, and see you in my next work. 🖐👽
