By: F. J. Gouldner
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She hated everything to do with music. The incessant pounding of drums, the senseless wailing of guitars, the ridiculous circus sounds an orchestra produced, the incomprehensible noise that emanated from every single jazz instrument, and the time that was wasted each day in order to be able to sit and listen to the mindless cacophony that everyone else but her referred to as music.
One evening after an extremely trying day at the office she fell off into a deep and silent sleep. She dreamt that her world was still and quiet. There was no more music to be heard. The instruments of torture that brought so many other people joy were silenced. There would be no more guitars trilling soft notes, the piano’s keys were flat and deadened, the trumpet was plugged, and the band most certainly would not play on. They were all dead, the musicians impaled in various brutal ways by their own instruments.
When she awoke she could no longer hear. Somehow, during her long and dream-filled sleep she had gone deaf. Initially she was elated. No longer would she be subjected to the horrific sounds of music.
Two weeks went by and tears filled her eyes as she poked the barrel of the rifle into her mouth. A jazz combo played softly in the distance as her big toe slid slowly through the hole and rested on the trigger. She would have given anything to hear a single note. But she could hear nothing but the beating of her own heart and the rushing of the blood through her veins. In a moment she would also feel no more.
[ end ]
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