To Hear The Music
A short story for dreamers crafted by six writers a paragraph at a time.
Sanora heard a music no one else seemed to hear. The beat moved her feet, the melody carried her heart, and the notes gave her hands things to do. She spent night and day breathing, dreaming, and dancing to that music — searching, always searching, for a way to share what she heard with another. (Sariah Ann)
But the people around her had small minds and laughed at her — saying that she was imagining it all and that she was foolish to believe that she could hear music that no one else could. Their mocking jeers at first bounced off of her and had no effect. But over time their poisonous words began to echo in her own mind when she felt down — drowning out the music she previously heard — and made her wonder if the music had ever been real. (Kealohilani)
Desperate, Sanora tried to seek the music. Anxious rumblings emerged in her head. The more she chased after the music, the louder the rumbling, and the further away she was from the sweet sound. Low rumblings became angry drumming. The drums thundered in her brain and left her in pain. Sanora’s once graceful dance moves turned ferocious, attempting to shake off the violent pain. (Luna Rugova)
The relentless poison hurled her way continued to spread. The aggressive dancing bruised, tore and ripped apart what she knew and loved. Shredded. Shattered. Shoke. Her feet, heart, and hands forgot what to do. And the pained broken pieces of who she once was, turned numb — obliterating from her mind, the music she once heard. Now empty, Sanora went through the motions of living. Day in and day out she lived. Unable to hear the music, she danced no longer. (Sariah Ann)
One day in her mind-numbing struggle to soldier on, she stumbled across a young man who was close to her age. She saw him dancing. Straining to hear the source of the music he danced to she found that there was none. Suddenly, she recognized him from her childhood years. Could it really be Jackson? (Kealohilani)
Memories flooded back to her of the times they had spent together dancing near a little stream that separated their two family houses in the woods. She had forgotten that anyone else had ever heard the music she had heard. But how had he managed to hold onto it? Driven forward by an intense need to know she took a step closer — but a person bumped into her — pushing her off course. (Kealohilani)
When she looked back to where Jackson had been dancing she saw that he was gone. Panic and pain coursed through her veins as she searched — but he was nowhere to be found. Doubt gripped her. Had she imagined seeing him? Was this seeming apparition just one more thing she had been wrong about? (Kealohilani)
For weeks, anytime she was outside, she scanned the crowds, searching for her long-lost friend. Thoughts and questions consumed her. How had they even drifted apart? Time is a funny thing. She then realized how long it had been since she had even heard the music. It had slowly faded, unheeded and unenjoyed, from her mind. (Paula Jean Ferri)
Was trying to find her childhood friend the answer to rebuilding the music within her? Or was there another way? For all she knew, she could have wasted precious time to find someone she just had imagined. Was he a reminder that her past held the answer? Tomorrow would be a new day, in fact it was going to be her birthday. (Kiana MLKE)
“Sanora?”
She jolted and sprang from the grass. She had fallen asleep underneath the tree for who knew how long. She stared at the person towering over her. My, how he had grown.
“Jackson?…” tears welled up in her eyes as she muttered the name, “…why did you — how are y — I mean, where did you? — ”
“Why don’t you dance anymore?”
Her tears disappeared. She felt something boiling hot in her chest, creeping towards her neck and her throat.
“That’s none of your business!” She blurted and dashed out of the woods, into her house. The bedroom door could have fallen if she swung it with a bit more force.
Sanora dumped herself on the bed. They had only just met after all these years. Instead of greeting her, he questioned her. Was it disappointment or anger in his voice?
Or was it shame? Is he ashamed of having her as a friend now that she has lost her music?
Her tears came back again, soaking the sheets with muffled sobs. (Luna Rugova)
Jackson stood outside staring at the house she had just escaped inside. Why had she run away like that? His mind replayed the wording of his question. He didn’t understand why it would make her angry. Something must be wrong. He walked up to the front door of her house and knocked. Nothing. He knocked again. Still nothing.
“I can wait here all night — you should know that better than most.” Still nothing. He sighed and sat down on a rocking chair on her front porch, facing it toward the door so he wouldn’t miss her. Seconds became minutes. Minutes became hours. The sun soon disappeared and the moon rose. Still he waited. (Kealohilani)
The next morning, just before dawn, Sanora pushed open the front door with red rimmed eyes. Her birthday had came and went as thoughts and tears kept her awake.
“Sanora”
With a start she turned towards the voice.
“Jackson…” He was still there. He hadn’t left.
“Sanora, the music you used to dance to was beautiful. I miss it. We miss it.”
As the warm-filled words slowly melted the angst and penetrated her brain, a small corner of the slimy mind-numbing goo — a goo that’d formed as negative words made residence and coated within — popped up and a single chord sounded. Music. (Sariah Ann)
It didn’t come back fast. In fact it was painstakingly slow… But gradually that single chord turned into a melody that started out soft. And Sanora began to dance. With a stumble here and a scraped knee there, she slowly got a hang of what she had lost — a melody that slowly crescendoed into a beautiful harmony. All the while Sanora danced, Jackson stood patiently there listening to the song of her tale. The song that had been building within her, even when she couldn’t hear the music herself. The song that had been constructing itself through the trials she had faced in her own life. A song that ended as simply as it started — a single chord. (Rachel Howard)
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