Chamber

Long shaggy brown hair droops past his shoulders, as he ducks under the short doorway and pulls himself into the echo chamber. A small asymmetrical room, the walls collide at strange angles — only 10 x 15 or so. His footsteps clang against the shellacked walls, bouncing off of each other like sonic mirrors, seeing into infinity. He whispers come on, tugging the thin wrist he holds. A young girl with daisies hung around her head — acquiesces excitedly.

Outside in the control room, Jim’s latest record plays on the playback speakers, “riders of the storm”…., an organ erupts into a gleeful solo, until his mournful voice takes over.

In the chamber, the echoes turn from low groans to excited screams — but with the wooden door closed shut — it only sounds like part of the song.