The Sound

May 18, 2008
By Carlie Mayfield, Lake St. Louis, MO

Sitting in my room thinking of tomorrow, contemplating what to fill the hours with is nothing new to me. This is the place I cry, laugh, write, and do my favorite thing, hear. Sitting, staring, and watching nothing inside the four prisoner walls collapsing in around me. Everyday shrinking little by little. This is the place I do my favorite thing, I hear.
Nothing is clearer to me than the sounds pulse inside my prison walls. No other sound makes my heart beat faster than the sounds that echo off my prison walls. The sounds drown the rest of the world until it’s left with nothing except what comes from my inside my prison.
I turn the sound up higher. Now the people of the world can hear, but I do not think they are listening. My body grows numb, my eyes close, and my head falls to the pillow. The only thing moving is my heart. I feel it. Each beat, every thump plays follow the leader with the sound. My heart, my soul, and the sound become one.
What I hear is not the same thing you hear. The sound changes inside my prison walls, it morphs into something of magic; rarely heard and barley felt. Without my prison the sound does not exists, and I would not live because music is life.

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