They took the music away.
They took it away, hiding it in a dark corner in a musty cupboard where it could barely breathe.
It could have suffocated. It could have shriveled and withered in neglect as all the spirit evaporated. It could have died forever, and They never thought to help it.
They took the music away, and They said it was never coming back.
They said it was for my own good. They said it through their hard plastic teeth and Their dripping smiles. I could hear the bees buzzing around Their tongues as They uttered those lies.
They took the music away, and They left me to endure my own consciousness.
The voices flurried around me, soaring out of the walls. They stroked my hair and they kissed my nose. They sang and danced and set up waterslides in my ear canals. They played psychedelic weightless ping pong and purple-blue-red twittering twister and violent monopoly in amongst the grey sludge. And they hosted ‘Life’ tournaments every hour on the stage right behind my eyeballs.
They took the music away, and so I did what I could. I wrapped my arms around my knees and slipped into a semi-catatonic state.
They thought I was sleeping. They said I could finally have some relaxation and peace without all that nasty noisy noise to keep me from healing. They smiled and congratulated each other and slapped each other on the back; They had finally conquered me.
I wonder if They thought that after the first month. Of course, I couldn’t tell when the first month had come. I couldn’t tell if it was after or before or the same as tomorrow and yesterday and all of eternity. I was too far gone by then. I couldn’t hear anything; it was just the way I like it. If I couldn’t hear the music, then I didn’t want to hear the overwhelming silence.
They took the music away, and I didn’t move.
I wasn’t sleeping. I couldn’t sleep without music. I was contemplating. Contemplating the nature of the sparkling galaxy floating within my head. Contemplating how I could make it more beautiful. I wouldn’t add life to it; that would spoil everything. Maybe I’d just curl up in the back of the theater and watch as it sparkled and glowed and spun slowly on its axis.
They took the music away, and I didn’t hear.
I was watching the fireworks display. It always occurred when purple-greeny sweet volcano planet lined up with skyrise baby-blanket aquamarine planet. It was exactly the same every time, and I like it that way. And every time it was gorgeous and awe-inspiring and completely normal. And every time I watched it wide-eyed and awed. It was so beautiful, so stupendously gorgeous, how could I not? Every sparkle of purple and blue and green and red and yellow-marine-margarita would burst forth from deep crevasses in the landscape. It was impossible to get bored here; I had not been able to invent dull.
They took the music away, and I was happy.
I had forgotten the music. I had forgotten the dream They call reality. My reality was sparkling and black and vibrant. There was no time, no boredom, no disappointment. There were only sparklers and LSD-inspired colors and a perpetual picture-show and only four senses.
They took the music away, and They worried They had killed me.
A year, 6 months, and 7 days after my death, They threw up their hands. They sent an orderly to the electronics store. And then They walked down the hallways. They climbed down the stairs. They let their white robes flap around them as They marched into the kitchen. They flung open the old musty moldy cupboard and They reached their synthetic hands inside.
They took the music away, and They brought it back.
My eyes snapped open and I started at the things reaching an unknown and previously undiscovered sense. What were these things? My legs unfurled and I stood up. I had not done so in a year, 6 months, and 7 days. They smiled and congratulated each other and slapped each other on the back; they had finally solved me.
They brought the music back, and I could hear.
I could feel the empty walls. I could see the decrepit smiles and the tired wrinkles. I could smell the stench of blood shed; the massacres and genocides and wars. I could taste the sorrow and fear. And I could hear the screams and the hopeless, desperate cries. I could sense the horror of the world; the world without clockwork firework displays and without lively colors and without a childlike sense of awe and wonder. Here there was pain, and there was boredom, and someone had invented dull.
I jabbed the stop button.
They had not taken the music away.
They had killed it.