Categories > Original > Drama > Background
Authoress' Note: Quick story I wrote for class. The idea was take something you believe you could never conceive of and write about it. The final result was something I hope to never witness it reality.
Background
It's quiet.
Somehow that makes me sad. Parents normally bask in the glory of silence after dealing with those high-pitched screams. And yet now, now I wish I had the god-awful bellowing behind my thoughts. Not this damned silence.
Grandad used to say silence was music. But that life needed better background music than just the sound of people thinking. And sometimes silence is like music, when nothing's ringing in your ears but your thoughts and you can really think for once. But now isn't that time. Now isn't when I really want to think. I'd rather have a fog horn in my living room and fill the damn "music" with something.
Granma doesn't really get it. She says I should move on, and I have. But right about now he'd be five months. I wonder, would he still be kicking and screaming? If he were here now, would he be yelling his lungs hoarse? Does it even matter to wonder?
Everything's gone. It's been awhile now, and I'm told I'm getting along fine. But it just doesn't seem right. I still feel sad, still empty, still grieving. I have moved on. I know I have. But I'm allowed a little remorse, a little indulgence in the past. No wonder Granma says I haven't moved anywhere.
It's really quiet.
And it makes me sadder to know what I'm missing out on. No feeding mushy pees at absurd hours of the morning, no shrill bawling to wake to. There isn't any cooing, no rattles, no giggling, no nothing at all.
Just silence.
No, not just silence. There's my breathing. And there's the sound of tears hitting the floor. Outside is the music of spring, and even if the cloud climb over the sky, it doesn't stop the bees from humming. Yes, the house is full of sound. It's full of the creaking of the staircases, a gentle breeze through open windows, rustling curtains...
...the soft sound of my heartbeat.
And in the background, if I strain my ears, I can hear the faint crying of my newborn boy. He's handsome and strong, wailing and making fists with his little pink hands. The angels' choir can be heard amidst the crying, and I am comforted by it.
Background
It's quiet.
Somehow that makes me sad. Parents normally bask in the glory of silence after dealing with those high-pitched screams. And yet now, now I wish I had the god-awful bellowing behind my thoughts. Not this damned silence.
Grandad used to say silence was music. But that life needed better background music than just the sound of people thinking. And sometimes silence is like music, when nothing's ringing in your ears but your thoughts and you can really think for once. But now isn't that time. Now isn't when I really want to think. I'd rather have a fog horn in my living room and fill the damn "music" with something.
Granma doesn't really get it. She says I should move on, and I have. But right about now he'd be five months. I wonder, would he still be kicking and screaming? If he were here now, would he be yelling his lungs hoarse? Does it even matter to wonder?
Everything's gone. It's been awhile now, and I'm told I'm getting along fine. But it just doesn't seem right. I still feel sad, still empty, still grieving. I have moved on. I know I have. But I'm allowed a little remorse, a little indulgence in the past. No wonder Granma says I haven't moved anywhere.
It's really quiet.
And it makes me sadder to know what I'm missing out on. No feeding mushy pees at absurd hours of the morning, no shrill bawling to wake to. There isn't any cooing, no rattles, no giggling, no nothing at all.
Just silence.
No, not just silence. There's my breathing. And there's the sound of tears hitting the floor. Outside is the music of spring, and even if the cloud climb over the sky, it doesn't stop the bees from humming. Yes, the house is full of sound. It's full of the creaking of the staircases, a gentle breeze through open windows, rustling curtains...
...the soft sound of my heartbeat.
And in the background, if I strain my ears, I can hear the faint crying of my newborn boy. He's handsome and strong, wailing and making fists with his little pink hands. The angels' choir can be heard amidst the crying, and I am comforted by it.
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