Submission: “Music of the Heart” by Bre Caverty

This is a very original science-fiction by Bre Caverty, dedicated to James Caverty. 

 

“Music of the Heart”

I was an ordinary girl, once. But that was a long time ago. When my life made sense, when it had meaning. Before the end. When my world came crashing down, and everything that made up who I was became illegal. This is the end.

            It was a day like any other, starting with me waking up at about 5:30, taking a shower, and heading to school. I sat through all my classes as usual, just biding the time until I could escape this prison of a school to listen to the music I kept hearing.

            When the final bell finally rang, there was something off. I could hear it in the way the staff members moved, their whispered discussions, huddled in groups to keep us from hearing what news they were sharing. We were sent home without a single word of what had happened. We arrived at our homes at varying times, but we all found out eventually. We were no longer free.

            The takeover had lasted only half an hour, and no one knew. Thirty minutes was all it took for one man to completely take over our world. The details are not known, but when each child got home, they were taken. I knew, as soon as my feet hit the concrete of my driveway. The music was gone. The music had always been there, Cathy singing way off key in the shower from down the street, Noel busting out guitar cords from next door, Megan with the heavy metal turned up loud enough to blow out a set of speakers a week. But most of all, my father. Listening, playing, singing, there was never a lack of music coming from my house. Until that day. I remembered back to the day, years ago, when Dad had explained, probably for the thousandth time that day, about the music I heard. He had been explaining why we had music, about how God decided he didn’t like the world the way it was. So, He gave man hearing. And man decided he needed to do something to bring pleasure to his hearing. He made a small instrument out of mud and placed a reed in it. This made an ocarina, the oldest instrument known to man, like a tiny flute to wear around your neck. Then, my father looked me in the eye, and said, “Monique, if you learn nothing in all your life, remember this. Nothing can stop you if you put your mind to it. Don’t let them change who you are. Let the music play.” That’s when he gave it to me. The one heirloom passed down through our family. A small clay nut-looking thing with six holes for the fingers, and a starburst design in the center. The Crominarty secret. He told me, if the music ever stopped, to go into the heart of the woods, to the grove, and play the song he taught me. It was slow and soft like a lullaby, but had a frantic edge to it. I was told never to play that melody, unless I was in grave danger. I’m pretty sure this counted. The instant I hit the driveway, I knew. I turned around and ran.  

            The forest was a good twenty-five miles away, down the highway from where we lived now. I wouldn’t make it on foot. I had planned to hitch-hike on the first truck I saw, but the roads were deserted. That’s where they caught me. They came screaming up the road in a white Italian sports car, and almost hit me. I had heard them coming, being the only sound other than my own breathing and footsteps, but they were just so fast! They took me back to my house. A man was waiting for me there.

            He was dressed in a white lab coat and white pants, with no ID or distinguishing buttons. He was bald, and his face was completely generic. He had a look about him that could only be created by some genetic altercation. Normally, when I meet someone, I can hear the music their heart makes. Not him. Whether there was no heart, or if he was some demon who existed without the gift of music, I never knew, but such matters were pushed aside as he smiled a terribly wicked simile at me. I knew I had to run then, but my legs would not work. He stood and came toward me, placing his hands on my shoulders. An incantation left his lips, holding me still in an obviously evil manner. I knew what he was doing, for I had heard it once before in the past. A time when the music was louder, everywhere in the hearts and souls of the people around me, and they wanted to take it away. The other time, the man still had the music, it was just very quiet. He was the new consoler at my school, and, in an attempt to “fix” me, my third grade teacher forced me to spend an hour a day in his office. He uttered an incantation that sent voices to my head. Soon, the rest of the staff at my school were convinced I was a freak, a demon spawn. The music was bad, they said. It wasn’t normal, wasn’t right, they said. They did everything short of an exorcism to get rid of my “abnormality”. That was where they lost me. My father was a music man. He would have nothing of them trying to rid me of it. He told me to play the ocarina, to play from my heart. Looking sort of nervous, I played. It started out as just one note, long and wavering, but then the melody broke through. It wasn’t perfect, but then, I never claimed to be. But then it happened. As the melody took flight, the consoler started shrieking, started writhing in pain. Almost like the music was burning him.

            The incantation became louder, faster. I knew I had to snap out of it, or I would fall to him. My head snapped up. No. He was not going to do this. He was not going to take my music away!

            “NO!” The sound of my scream shocked us both. He took his hands away, stumbling backward. I took the opportunity to jump back, onto the table in the dining room. I had never been all that graceful, but I was strong, and I could be fast if I wanted to. From my vantage point, I began to play. The melody wasn’t something I had ever played before, too fast and loud for me. But it stood defiant, so it must have been. In that instant, my jeans-and-a-tee-shirt outfit was gone, and as was the house I was standing in. We stood on a cloud, with him in a black suit, his face contorted with pain. I stood in a white dress, with a great pain in my shoulders. Wings. My hair flowed unbound as it had when I was small. I was free from his curse. I went and placed my hand on his shoulder, trying so hard to find his music, I nearly lost myself to his evil. My heart broke. This man had lost his way, and was so far gone, even the angle Michael could do nothing to bring him back. A wind blew around me, and on its breath, I heard a gentle song. It had no words, but its very flow told me all would be well. I closed my eyes, and when they opened again, we were back in my house. The man ran screeching out the door, and I never saw him again.

            School began again the next day, without any spirit. The students had been stripped of their individuality, and the adults of their joy. All our parents were gone. But hope was not.

            Including me, there were five. Five students who had heard the music once, and now would die to get it back. We were the only ones left who could fight, or even wanted to. We were the only ones who saw why we had to. 

            The world slid back into a shadow of what it had been. The music was there, but only in echoes. The people hated. They hated each other, and the world suffered. 

            My name is Monique Crominarty. I am thirteen years old. With four other teenagers, I am on a mission. A mission to bring back the music and the love to a world that no longer remembers that it even lost it. There are more of us now, but we don’t pronounce ourselves so much. We are the ones who reach out to the outsiders, who protect the weak while others sit by and watch. We are the ones who break into song in the middle of Chicago, or start dancing on the roads of Uganda. We are here to free the people, and bring back the music to a silent world. You have a choice. Join with us, and embrace the music to its full standard, or sit by passively as we change the rest of the world. We are just teenagers, yes, but underestimate us, if you dare, and you’re in for the surprise of a lifetime. Teenagers, alone are nothing to the adults of the world. But teenagers together, with one voice, will rock the world to the Stone Age and back. We will not be silent. Let the music play.

 

© Bre Caverty