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Night of Music
The afternoon sun burned clear over a green suburb on the outskirts of a large city. It was green and well-ordered, a place of straight lines, crisp air, and fresh-cut grass. The day was Friday, the time was 6:30 PM, and a small blue car was pulling lazily into one of the countless driveways that lined the road. Aaron Matthews had come home.
He turned off the engine and made his way into the house at once, not even bothering to take his suitcase from the back seat. Work was over, and the weekend had begun; this was time to relax. Relaxation entailed turning on the air conditioner, collapsing on the couch, and going comatose for an absolute minimum of five minutes.
This completed, Aaron roused himself and located the remote control, plowing through five channels' worth of television before dismissing the entire effort as garbage and turning off the power once more. What to do, what to do... After a moment's search he settled on a small wireless radio in the kitchen and began searching for something worthwhile there while making a sandwich out of various edible-looking items found in the refrigerator.
A talk show...news...love songs...another talk show...more news...another talk show...how could twenty consecutive radio stations all be nothing but drivel? When he found a station that was broadcasting only silence, he left it on for a moment out of sheer relief as he went on a quest for mustard.
He was about to give up altogether and turn the radio off when soft music began floating through the air. A classical station, maybe? Well, it would do for now. He let it play and found to his surprise, after a time, that he loved it. There were no words, but there was something of beauty and subtlety about the notes...
By the time Aaron finished his second sandwich, there was no longer any question of turning it off. The melody did not merely play; it sang to him, spoke of sweet-running streams and echoing valleys and - was it fire? - something wonderful. He took the radio into the living room with him and lay down on the couch once more, simply to listen. At first it seemed to him a little odd to be affected this way, since he normally never listened to orchestral music; but this and all other concerns of the outside world soon drifted away, and there was only the music itself, swimming over him.
But as time passed, the notes turned long and sad, and he soon found listening to their woeful depth nearly unbearable; yet he was utterly unable to stop. Here was such beauty in the midst of sorrow as he could never have imagined. There were no words for what he was hearing; it was beyond reason, in a place that only song could reach. Why, why so sad? If he had still been thinking normally, he might have wondered why there had not been a commercial break by now, for over an hour had gone by; but such thoughts were long past.
Then the sadness faded, and for a time the old melody was back, and he was happy again - but the notes began to ring hollow in a shrill, stupid imitation of the original music. Before long this mockery was more unbearable to him than the sorrow had been. It was awful and twisted, and he realized that he hated it; but he could not stop listening.
On and on the hours went, and outside evening turned to night, but the music went relentlessly on. It had grown now more loathsome than he thought possible, every note a foul and horrific offense to his stricken mind. The music conjured thoughts of terror, and revulsion, and a delight in cruelty that was sickening to behold. Aaron began to pace around the lamp-lit room, his face beaded with sweat as he made himself listen. Why could he not stop listening? What force...? There was no answer but the wretchedness of continued existence.
He began to shout at the radio, railing curses and accusations and angry howls until he could fight it no longer, and then he would put his face in his hands and groan softly under the ceaseless weight of the melody until he could find the strength to shout again. At last his voice grew hoarse, and he seized the radio and shook it violently, making small noises in the back of his throat; but these were drowned out by a barrage of percussion, and when he set it back down he could not bring himself to look at it again for a long time. Finally it seemed to him that all hope had gone from the world, and there was only darkness and continued suffering, and nothing else for the remainder of time.
But just then a hope came to him, wild and desperate, shining faintly at the edge of consciousness. The stars! He would take the thing outside and show it the stars! No evil could stand undaunted before the pristine majesty of the night sky, ancient and awesome in its vastness. Let it see what greatness was! This was his sudden inspiration, irrational and frenzied, in all the world his only hope. He picked up the object of his hatred and sprinted outside to look upward at the firmament.
The clouds were out. The sky was overcast. There were no stars.
He fell before the radio and wept.
There was no salvation. He curled up and hid his face in the grass, screaming and crying, surrendering completely to the metal and plastic beside him. The agony of night stretched on. The torment of the music was never-ending. There was no escape; morning would never come.
Thunder began to rumble in the distance, and rain poured from the sky. His clothes were soaked with mud as he rolled in the grass, clawing at his face; lightning flashes split the darkness long enough for him to see the blood on his hands. The world and the sky roared around him. The music was huge and hideous in his ears. There was no hope - only death - only fear - only pain - no hope - no hope -
The sky exploded in light and sound, and a savage, wordless scream was ripped out of him; his eyes darted madly until he found a rock by the side of his house. This he raised high above his head, then hurled downward onto the radio with terrific force. There was a sharp crunch and a crackle of electricity - then it was silent.
And when dawn came next morning, it found only a man sleeping peacefully in his back yard and the shattered fragments of a small wireless radio lying around him. The air was calm; the day was quiet; and the sky was clear.
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The beautous pointy-eared one--Maia! ^^
I look forward to reading more of your stories!
0 am... but very good.
