A Song for Them

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
It is said that music is heard in different ways by different people. If that's so, do the spirits of this world hear music as well?

Submitted: August 15, 2013

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Submitted: August 15, 2013



It started as one note that echoed through the cold grey room.

The ripped drapes on the battered windows seemed to flow with the chord. They danced in a wistful way as if they were summoning something that had been long lost. Although it was simple and carefree, the chord seemed to entrance the musician into a dark dream.

He dreamed of turmoil in the most dreadful places known to man....

He dreamed of torture in the most isolated locations...

It wasn’t until he paired the chord with three more distinct sounds did he finally dream of Hope.

Hope came as an innocent woman.

There was nothing impressive about her features. She was normal, just like the sound he had begun to conjure.

In his dream, she sat beside him as he played. She smiled softly at the swift and natural movements of his fingers across the strings. She parted her lips at one point with the notion to say something. However, nothing but cool air escaped her.

The air stung the boys neck prompting him to slowly slide his fingers down the bar. The girl frowned at the sound being produced and slowly faded away from it.

The boy continued to play.

Soon the sound brought him a new audience. Unfortunately, this audience was darker than the previous. Their skin was pulled against their bones making them appear to be nothing but skeletons in the unlit room. Their clothes were of the old times when life was more simple. Their faces held no expression as the boy continued to play. Some of them stood and watched him with their sunken eyes. The others sat around and looked towards the ceiling as if reminiscing on the time that they once shared.

By now his fingers were beginning to blister. Any musician would have given in to the pain and discomfort. Any musician would have taken a rest from this point.

The boy continued to play.

The rhythm in his music became faster. The change of pace seemed to take his audience by surprise. The each tilted their heads in curiosity. The eerie movement brought chills to the boys body. Even the burning sensation from his fresh blisters couldn’t warm him. The room had become darker and he felt as if his dream was plummeting his body into utter despair. Now the audience began to move with his chords. Just like the drapes on the window, they danced as if they were in some mysterious summoning trance.

Therefore, the boy continued to play.

“How long...?” He thought. “How long until the dream ends...?” His answer came in the form of a girl. She was the same girl from before. She was Hope. She stood in the middle of the room as the dark audience danced around her. Just the like the audience, her face was emotionless as she stared at him. The boy watched as she parted her mouth once again but still he could not hear her.

This time, the boy ceased playing.

He didn’t do it abruptly, however. That would be rude and unheard of. He brought the rhythm of his music to a slow pluck of the strings. With each pluck, an audience member faded away. He continued like this until all that was left was the emotionless girl. His hand hovered over the strings as he searched her eyes. The smallest smile formed on her face.

“You play beautifully.” She said softly. “Your music speaks to us here in this world. All of us...”

The boy didn’t reply. He placed his fingers back onto the strings but hesitated as the girl spoke again.

“Be careful...” She warned “Don’t attract the wrong audience...”

She faded away and left the boy in the cold grey room. He closed his eyes and breathed in the stale air of the room. The foul stench turned sweet in a matter of seconds. His eyes were blinded by a bright light as he opened them. His eyesight focused and he found himself staring blankly at an audience of men, women, and children dressed in their Sunday’s best. The room was brightly lit with beautiful cream colors. The windows poured in sunlight from outside that made the drapes glow. He let out the breath he was holding in and continued to stare at all of them blankly.

“Joseph?” He turned to face a minister with a concerned look on his face. “Are you going to play?”

He turned back to the quiet audience and then to his guitar. His eyes finally gazed over to the casket on his side. The casket held a normal girl sleeping peacefully. The boy rubbed the blisters on his fingers and placed them onto the strings.

“This piece is entitled....” He began. “A Song for Them.”

The boy started the piece with a note that echoed through the room.


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