On repeat...
I wrote the following as a hot pen/warm up execise whilst listening to my ipod. It's short and probably could use some more work but I felt like sharing it anyway because I felt like it had something inherently creepy hiding in its shadowed corners...
. . . . . .
The music filled her, blocking out the sounds of traffic, sirens and drunken laughter. Shutting out the voice in her head telling things she didn't want to hear and certainly didn't want to think about. There was only the music and the sweet-sour of the singer's voice telling her that love was pain and would destroy you but remained the most beautiful experience of our lives.
She didn't hear the footsteps approaching her and drawing nearer; she never heard the sound of his voice. She only felt the sudden spike of pain in her neck and then the floor seemed to be leaping up to greet her.
She woke slowly, the sweet-sour voice tender in the background of her full body headache. She was curled in the dark upon her bed although she couldn't remember walking home, or her key in the door, or climbing into bed. She shifted to throw her legs over the side of her bed and bit back a scream as her knees slammed into something hard, a metallic reverberation smothering the music. She reached out for her bedside lamp and found only a wall.
Her hand scrambled over rough concrete, following a perimeter the same size as the matress she lay on. One wall was metal. Panting, she did a second circut, feeling for a door, a window, an edge, a hinge, a screw, an end to the box which held her. But other than the change in surface, her cage was complete. She slammed her hands against the metal, screaming herself hoarse until the volume of the music increased smothering her voice. She fell back onto the matress and the volume reduced.
She lay listening for movement, for something beyond the song when it began to fade towards the end of the track. In the dark, in the box, the coming silence suddenly felt like something that couldn't be survived. She was almost relieved when the song started over again.
She lay limp, listening to the song as it played through and faded out and began again. And again. And again. And again.
She screamed her way through the next two repeats, slamming her hands against the metal as the volume increased. Giving up on the metal wall or door, she crawled beneath the matress, pressing her hands over her ears as she tried to shut out that sweet-sour voice which was telling her she was going to die listening to this track.
When she lay still, pressed against the floor of her cell, she could hear something beyond the concrete, in the anxious silence between repeats. Holding her breath when the fade out began, pressing her ear against the stone warmed by her body, she could hear a different beat, a different song. Too distant to recognise. She crawled to the other walls, listening unbreathing in the silences between her track. Different rhythms, different voices, other screams.
She had the soundtrack for her abduction and all around her, others had theirs.
. . . . . .
The music filled her, blocking out the sounds of traffic, sirens and drunken laughter. Shutting out the voice in her head telling things she didn't want to hear and certainly didn't want to think about. There was only the music and the sweet-sour of the singer's voice telling her that love was pain and would destroy you but remained the most beautiful experience of our lives.
She didn't hear the footsteps approaching her and drawing nearer; she never heard the sound of his voice. She only felt the sudden spike of pain in her neck and then the floor seemed to be leaping up to greet her.
She woke slowly, the sweet-sour voice tender in the background of her full body headache. She was curled in the dark upon her bed although she couldn't remember walking home, or her key in the door, or climbing into bed. She shifted to throw her legs over the side of her bed and bit back a scream as her knees slammed into something hard, a metallic reverberation smothering the music. She reached out for her bedside lamp and found only a wall.
Her hand scrambled over rough concrete, following a perimeter the same size as the matress she lay on. One wall was metal. Panting, she did a second circut, feeling for a door, a window, an edge, a hinge, a screw, an end to the box which held her. But other than the change in surface, her cage was complete. She slammed her hands against the metal, screaming herself hoarse until the volume of the music increased smothering her voice. She fell back onto the matress and the volume reduced.
She lay listening for movement, for something beyond the song when it began to fade towards the end of the track. In the dark, in the box, the coming silence suddenly felt like something that couldn't be survived. She was almost relieved when the song started over again.
She lay limp, listening to the song as it played through and faded out and began again. And again. And again. And again.
She screamed her way through the next two repeats, slamming her hands against the metal as the volume increased. Giving up on the metal wall or door, she crawled beneath the matress, pressing her hands over her ears as she tried to shut out that sweet-sour voice which was telling her she was going to die listening to this track.
When she lay still, pressed against the floor of her cell, she could hear something beyond the concrete, in the anxious silence between repeats. Holding her breath when the fade out began, pressing her ear against the stone warmed by her body, she could hear a different beat, a different song. Too distant to recognise. She crawled to the other walls, listening unbreathing in the silences between her track. Different rhythms, different voices, other screams.
She had the soundtrack for her abduction and all around her, others had theirs.
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