stories and music

note: anne rice's inspiration gave birth to this piece...

In the beginning there was darkness. I don’t even know whether it was night or day. I felt safe. Then there were voices. Sometimes they would converse and at times I heard screams, shouts and cries. I could not see them. It was as though I was locked up and chained. I could barely move around in the tiny confined space. At times I felt hunger at times I do not. One time I heard music coming from outside. I began humming the tune. And often times, I heard stories. Stories that have happy endings. But I did not feel happy after hearing it. There was something inside me that made me feel melancholic. I began kicking and kicking. I felt my world rock steadily and then it stopped. It was an earthquake perhaps. Sometimes I cannot sleep. I feel that outside the weather is not good. Perhaps it is raining. I feel awful. The music is not playing anymore. The stories were gone. The crying was still heard. The screams and shouts grew louder each day. Then one day. I woke up. My world was tossing and shaking terribly.

My chain was still intact. I cannot breathe. It was raining outside. Flooding into my world. I was helpless. I was slipping into nothingness. I began panicking. Am I going to die? Then there was light. It was almost blinding. Now I can see. The chain was also removed. I was outside. I am in another world. There were still voices. And now I can see them. The one whose crying is has stopped. She was not saying anything. The voice that shouts is also there. He stared at me. It was cold. I didn’t care. I want to hear the voice of the woman—the one who keeps on crying. But she is not moving. Maybe she is asleep. Another came in the room. He said something to the man who keeps on shouting. It was bad news and he didn’t like it. He seemed sad. He stared at me and I didn’t care. I want to hear the voice that plays the music and tells the stories. The stories of happy endings. But I only saw a cloth being placed on top of her. She was not moving. Then the woman in white has come to take me away. I was scared. I didn’t want to leave the woman wrapped in cloth. I cried in protest. I cried and cried but nothing happened. The room was farther and farther away from me. The voice that tells me stories and plays me music is gone. The man who shouts is still there, he was the one who asked me to be taken away from the woman. I hated him. He didn’t like me one bit. The stories I will miss them and the music. The music that kept playing was gone forever. I began humming the tune because I will never hear it again. I will have more stories but they will no longer be of happy endings but of grief and sorrow. Of misery. Of loss. Of nothingness. Of what my world used to be like—dark and rainy.