Best read while listening to "Safe & Sound - Taylor Swift ft. The Civil Wars". That is what I wrote it to.
I have a theory: that music is not created. It resides within each of us, with us. It whispers to us, like ghosts of dreams and visions long forgotten; of worlds unseen, fantasies unlived. We no more create music than we do carbon dioxide by our meager exhalations. It is something that has always been there; waiting for us. Longing to be played, sung, danced; awakened.
A vase hit the wall with an audible crash; shards of ceramic, moist dirt, and flowers blossomed along the wall, leaving a fracture in its once smooth surface. It was soon followed by the side table it once rested on, obliterating the fracture and leaving a gaping hole. A mouth in the walls face, ready to devour whatever else was thrown at it; and it did. By the time the carnage had ended, there was little left of the room that had once been called 'living'. It was now a graveyard for the scraps and carcasses of what once were memories and furniture; though few there were.
Scampering, I made as quick of a beeline as I could towards the stairs. Desperate for refuge under the blanket that had kept me safe so many nights, to hold the ragged, old, stuffed bear that had been my protector for so many years; my one, true friend. I had neared the top and final step, when I heard it. Thunderous foot falls, making their clumsy way towards the stairs; towards me. They grew louder with each palpitation of my heart, thrumming in my ears as fast as hummingbird wings. I turned again, with renewed vigor, running headlong towards the room, and the shield, and protector that would, once again, protect me from the monster that loomed behind me. Protect me from the dragon that hunted me; its malevolent, putrid breath ever breathing down my neck. One more night, that's all I had to endure, just one more night.
I make it to my room before the beast does, and close the door with as much purpose as I can muster; jamming a chair under the knob to keep it from opening. I can still hear it advancing. I back up, crawling backwards onto my bed, wrap my shield around me and cuddle close to my protector. What little faith I have in myself, is made up for the faith I have in them. They have not failed me once before, and I don't suspect them to start now. They are always there, after the battle has finished, holding me while I cry myself to sleep; to keep me safe long after the bloodshed has ended.
I hold my protector close in front of me; the door won't hold the beast long. I know this from experience. Sometimes, on the days it is less interested in conflict, I can placate it. Speak to it through the key hole; leave it a peace offering at the base of the door. Sometimes, this works. The beast takes what offerings I have pilfered – be it speech or consumable – and leaves till it is time to feed again. I have gotten clever; but, sometimes, cleverness isn't enough.
The banging starts then, first soft, almost tentative; then louder as its anger increases. I shrink back further into my shield, looking to my protector. The stitched smile on his worn, aged face reassures me. The banging has increased now, till it is a drum that envelopes the room with its beat; a heartbeat. I brace myself, ready if the chair, the only thing keeping the door from swinging open and allowing the beast entrance, should give out. To my relief, it seems to be holding fast.
When the banging stops, so does my heart. No words or offerings were needed this time; and that worries me. I wait a full minute before even thinking of venturing towards the mouth of the cave. Another minute passes; nothing. I take in a breath, waiting for the melody to begin. The melody that assures me that the beast has resumed its place with its small music box that will, eventually, lull it to sleep. That music box is my saving grace, my small beacon of hope. Like a lighthouse on shore when the storm is coming to its end. The notes ascend the stairs and, much like my shield, wrap their warm fingers around me and tell me that the storm is over; that it is alright to sleep, safe and sound. When nothing happens, I inch my way off the bed; anxious to see if it really is all over, and if I can sleep easy tonight.
I am hardly off the bed when the door, silent till this point, gives a large yell before it is torn off its hinges. In spite of myself, I scream; backing up to my bed to grab my shield. The beasts eyes lock on me, blazing with emotions I can only grasp at; only imagine what images lay behind those orbs. What feels like minutes pass before the beast opens its mouth and lets out a sound so terrifying that I sink to the floor, covering my ears with my hands; trying to block out the notes that resonate within me, notes that soothe no pain, and bring no reassurance with them.
As the beast continues its noise, a heat begins to fill the room. I open my eyes that I hadn't known I had shut and rear frantically. The room is engulfed with flame. It licks at the wall and claws its way closer to where I sit on the floor. I wheel, looking for my shield, my protector, but that have fallen. The last of my hope leaves me as I turn back to the beast. Its eyes ablaze as the fire emanates from it.
I scream.
Shooting up in bed, I look around my small, shared room; nigh time. I run a shaky hand through my hair as I try to steady my breathing, try to calm my heart beat. I take a shaky breath, rubbing my face. I am covered in a cold sweat and can't seem to still the tremors that take over my body. Tilting my head back, I let out a small sob.
A noise startles me, and I turn to its source; half expecting to find the beast waiting for me. It's not there, and I breathe sigh of relief when my eyes meet with soft, caring ones instead of the ones of fire.
"Jack?" the small voice asks; eyes searching mine, fearful for me.
"It's just you." I say, so grateful that it is 'just her'. Her brow creases as I wrap my arms around her, pulling her into the bed with me; holding her close.
"Jack, what's wrong?" she asks, holding me back just as tight.
"Just a nightmare," I say, grateful that it was.
"Oh." She says sadly; like mom would have. "Can I sleep with you?" She asks, as if she is asking for her own benefit and not my own; which is just as likely.
"Only if you sing." I say, pulling my shield over both of us.
She gives a nod as she settles in. a brief moment passes before she begins a song. It's one I sang to her when she first came to live with us, and remained her favourite; mine as well.
When she is finished, I am almost asleep, and can sense that she is as well from how the song softened near the middle.
"I love you, Quinn." I say, hugging her tighter.
"I love you too, Jack." She responds, reaching up with her face to kiss my cheek before settling back down and falling soundly asleep.
"Safe and sound," I mumble before falling just as blissfully asleep as she.
For those of you who haven't read the Hunger Games. Go do it now! XD
For AmS
Yorkie-s