The Sound of Jazz This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

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I remember feeling quite melancholic, lying all curled up on my bed. I remember the light being too bright and the music being too silent.
The light turned out and the music turned louder. I can’t remember if I did it myself or if it just happened, really.
But I remember being curled up on my bed, pressing my arms against my chest and pulling my legs up, being small and round, and feeling naked. Or rather feeling that I should have been naked.
Maybe I even was naked. My body was not, but my soul might have been.
The hypnotic sound of Jazz rushed through my ears, my brain, my whole body. I felt the vibe of bass, the soft sound of a saxophone solo and the silent, metallic melody of trumpets.
The music made my body tingle, filled me to the very last, every cell of mine was full with it, overfull, sick of it. I didn’t turn it off.
I felt as if I was about to explode. I curled up tighter, held everything together, afraid of my body falling apart.
It felt like those moments, when you look into one persons face, see them lying, faking a smile and know that this person would like to cry, like to scream, just let everything out, but doesn’t. And you don’t ask, don’t say anything, because you know that this person is hurt. Hurt because of you and you just wish you hadn’t hurt that person so much.
But you can’t turn back time.
I have never felt that small before, never less important. And I never cared less. The world could have stopped and I wouldn’t have cared.
I as well remember my body being warm and my feet being cold, I remember feeling a bit feverish.
My hair almost hid my face, just my nose was showing. I could see it. It was like I could see myself, but not as I usually looked like.
My body was too small and my hair was too long, my skin was too pale and looked grey, sick and rough. The headphones covered my ears and my arms covered my naked chest. I could feel that I was smiling although I wanted to burst out into tears.
It was a weird evening, I must admit. There were so many things that make me feel cross now. But at that very moment, I didn’t feel weird at all. I felt strangely safe, and warm.
Everything was okay.
Everything was drowned in the soothing sound of Jazz.
Maybe I slept and dreamed, but I think I was awake.
My mouth opened a bit, let out a tiny whimper. I could see it, getting out of my mouth, trying to get back in, but not being able to, then hiding, sliding in a niche in the wall and vanishing.
My lips became warm and I pressed them together, just to open them the very next moment to share a kiss, to share a kiss with passion.
I am sure that passion kissed me that evening.
A steaming hot wave rushed through my body and mixed with the music, worked together with the melodies, they tried to make my small, tiny, weak body burst, to set it on fire.
The window sprung open and a wave of snowflakes rushed into my room, carried by the sea of wind. My eyes were closed but I saw everything as clear as never before and never after again.
I stood by the window, the headphones still on my ears, my arms slung around my naked chest, rubbing the cold, grey skin of my arms.
And as I stood there I could see every detail of the snowflakes, every delicate curve and every edge they had. A smile stroke my lips softly.
The snowflake smiled back at me, then they all rushed out of my room again.
I left the window open, if they intended on returning, but they never came. As my body started to feel numb and my skin became red from all the rubbing, I closed it.
I pressed my forehead against the glass.
Cold.
Outside, it was dark. Very dark.
The music stopped, suddenly, like it had been ripped apart.
A disappointed look must have come to my face for I felt my forehead wrinkling and my mouth pouting. In a sudden hit of rage I pulled the headphones off my head and threw them into one edge of my room.
Being angry as I was, for no reason at all, I ran out of my room and I didn’t even bother to shut the door.
In there, my headphones lay, not even attached to anything.





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