The human race has gone deaf. Music has died. [Bad summary, but please check it out]
I remember when the music died. It was not an event that had surprised me. In fact, I was among the only people who graciously accepted it. One would not expect it of a modern-day troubadour, such as I. Any man who didn't know me well would have associated me with the rest of my musician friends, who believed they were the ones who were destined to keep the music alive. The ones who spent several of the consequent months trying to find a “cure”. What fools. What arrogant fools.
I remember the year right before the death of music, and sound altogether. My four closest friends wished to be in a group: sing songs, become famous, get girls. It was their dream; they called it the dream, as if it was everyone's. I never understood this, because it was not mine. However, I went along with them, just for the purpose of entertainment. And eventually, my only purpose became entertainment.
Playing sold-out shows. Topping Billboard charts. Getting paid in stacks of greenbacks. I cannot deny that it was pleasant, at first. There would always be a beautiful woman who wanted my love. Everywhere I looked, people would be offering me friendly smiles or free food. And when I returned home every night, I had the satisfaction of knowing millions of people adored my music, something I created. But soon, it lost its charm. It stopped being about creating ways to express ourselves through sound. Our new job was to grace the cover of the latest magazines with a scandalous new story. What will we do next? Though my companions would never agree with me, the celebrity life became a complete and utter bore. I would have much rather been in my old job, selling merchandise from door to door. It gave me scope to see new faces every day, observe strangers and wonder about their lives, without them ever getting bothered. Instead, I was cooped up in air-conditioned buildings, getting my picture taken or getting interviewed.
Thus, I was somewhat relieved when the epidemic hit.
According to American scientists and doctors, the cleverly nicknamed “Townshend” virus started in Canada (because diseases obviously never start in the perfect, Utopian, United States). Although it is still unclear what exactly it was, the virus caused the victim to develop severe Sensorineural hearing loss along with influenza symptoms. The flu was relatively harmless, just like a passing seasonal one, but the hearing loss didn't go away. Got the Townshend virus? You're going deaf.
Needless to say, this caused panic among the general population of the world. Vaccines had to be created! Patients had to be quarantined! Unfortunately, the Townshend virus was highly contagious and basically inevitable since nobody knew just what it was. Before long, the majority of the human race, was struck by it. Of course, I got it, since I catch any measly disease that happens to go around. No need to be bitter—eventually, everybody had it. But what about newborn children? They were our last hope! But alas, every baby of every virus victim was born with severe hearing loss, which eventually developed into complete hearing loss. And just when we were thinking we were advancing in the field of science, this tragedy brings us all down. This is where evolution led us: Homo Sapien was deaf.
The music was dead. No more Mozart; we'd all turned into Beethovens. No more Blue Danube or Pachelbel's Cannon or Stairway to Heaven. No more Hallelujah/or /God Save the Queen or Smells Like Teen Spirit.
It's been eight years, and people are still in shock and depression over this loss. I suppose it is a huge change, but I was quick to get over it. I try not to let problems take control of my life; I try to continue living no matter what happens. Can't hear anymore? Learn to sign. No point in speaking? Find an efficient way of writing everything down. With such adaption skills, one would imagine me to be quite successful in a situation like this.
Unfortunately, this was not the case.
Once my friends and I lost our jobs, we parted ways, unable to find anymore common ground. After they went through their individual periods of denial, I believe they all became pretty successful at whatever career they chose, the reason being their already-acquired fame. The same concept should have worked for me, but I was foolish then. I decided to simply live off the money I had made already. This worked out perfectly, until the fateful day when I realized I was broke.
It was too late, at that point, to use my prior fame and due to the high amount of tattoos on my body, no real business would hire me. And that was it.
I had to sell my guitars in order to rent out a small condo, and get a job at the nearest It's A Grind coffeehouse. Still, I try not to let this unexciting situation get the best of me. Something better will eventually come along.
I stood behind the counter, doing the late night routine check of the cash register, the most boring task imaginable. It was times like those that a little music would have helped. I remembered that it killed boredom better than anything else I knew. Pearl Jam was a band that always used to get me pumped up during tiresome tasks. I breathed in deeply as I fumble with the keys, trying to lock up the cash register. I unhook the small, golden name tag which reads “Frank” in black lettering, off my shirt. Nobody else was in the building, since the boss had left me to lock up. Weariness was working its way into my system and I wanted to get home as quickly as possible and crash on the couch, maybe watch an old silent film on the small television set.
Finally finished, I walked to the front door, keys in hand. I flicked the lights off, shoved open the door, and locked it shut behind me. It was a humid, foggy night. The street was dimly lit by the tall lamppost at the corner. My apartment was a few blocks down, beyond the thick mist that laced the atmosphere. A night like this seemed eerie to me, so I was cautious as I strolled towards home. It was silly, but I had a feeling something bad was about to happen. I quickened my pace as I crossed the street. With the fog so thick, it was nearly impossible to see anything. I wouldn't have been surprised if I got lost or hit by a car or something.
Eventually, I located my apartment building and punched in the code to let myself in. Groggily, I approached my room and turned the doorknob, pushing it open. I was greeted by complete darkness. Feeling around the side wall, I found the light switch and flipped it on. Squinting, my eyes made an effort to adjust to the light. I stepped inside and shut the door behind me. The moment I had done so, I regretted it because my sudden instinct was to run away. This was not due to some petty premonition though. My jaw had dropped, my heart beat becoming erratic. Hand still on the doorknob, I tried to pull at it, but my shock kept my fingers numb. A weird sensation went through my ears, but I chose to ignore it because there were bigger things to worry about.
There was a man in my apartment.
My mouth opened to scream, but it wouldn't have made a difference now, would it?
Also,is the title okay? Or should I pick a different one? If so, any suggestions?