Enlightenment 2 (trailway 17)
It was an impossible task, but needless to say it had to be done. He had sat for far too long in his five story memory pool... thinking.... waiting.... desiring for the even the meekest chance to stand up over the vilification he had placed upon himself. For him it was not about getting out of the water, but keeping his head above it. As he waded there his past occasionally came as a ghost to visit him in the shape of a ghost grandfather clock ticing away, nearly stealing his heartbeat. As his heart faded into an ambience it was music that he could remember before those ill soaked days. It was music that rained to the soundtrack of a storm. It was music that lit a sunfelt day when every cloud had been on vacation.
An old voice whispered in the background, "sing.... sing... sing.."
"Sing to whom?"
No answer.
"Who's there?"
No answer.
Not a figure around.
Just him, a pool of water, and a grandfatherclock........
As he looked around the deeper end of the pool searching for that world weighed and yet familiar voice he had noticed the more he had submerged the less he could hear. Silence surrounded his seashell ears that had once held the overwhelming sound of the ocean. His eyes expanded wide as his mouth dropped with the overhead tide..... and he sang. Deep in that pool that he had once argued with about buoyancy.... there he was... sitting bottom side... singing with all the air remaining in those little human lungs. Not a single person could hear him. Not a single word was salvagable in relation to anyone besides himself, but he felt every harmonious mutter in the center of his chest. The perfect music of silence filled him as the water seeped into the last note of his lungs. He remains there to this day still in silence... no thoughts... quite patient... waiting for someone else to come and wallow in their own misery and he'll merely harmonize with the ghostly perfumed voices in air....
"sing... singk... sink"
An old voice whispered in the background, "sing.... sing... sing.."
"Sing to whom?"
No answer.
"Who's there?"
No answer.
Not a figure around.
Just him, a pool of water, and a grandfatherclock........
As he looked around the deeper end of the pool searching for that world weighed and yet familiar voice he had noticed the more he had submerged the less he could hear. Silence surrounded his seashell ears that had once held the overwhelming sound of the ocean. His eyes expanded wide as his mouth dropped with the overhead tide..... and he sang. Deep in that pool that he had once argued with about buoyancy.... there he was... sitting bottom side... singing with all the air remaining in those little human lungs. Not a single person could hear him. Not a single word was salvagable in relation to anyone besides himself, but he felt every harmonious mutter in the center of his chest. The perfect music of silence filled him as the water seeped into the last note of his lungs. He remains there to this day still in silence... no thoughts... quite patient... waiting for someone else to come and wallow in their own misery and he'll merely harmonize with the ghostly perfumed voices in air....
"sing... singk... sink"