Mellifluous

• Emma Liu, Grade 9, North Sydney Girls High School -
• Short Story
• 2018

Excellence Award in the 'Write Along 2018' competition

The music is fuzzy.
It’s there, sitting tantalisingly out of reach at the core of his mind. It’s there, trembling in his fingertips as they skim over the scroll wheel of the mouse. It’s there, intensely gushing out of his pupils, a penetrative laser. As if that can transfer his production onto the screen.
But it is ineffable, he knows, as he opens up a file and tilts his head when the familiar song reaches his ears. Should he reuse the beat?
It doesn’t match what’s pouring out of his soul though. Whatever’s in his head is cornered. Useless. He lets out his frustration by slamming his hand onto the desk etched with marks and deformities caused by the unleashed exasperation over the years. Déjà vu. Once again, there is no fuel driving his train of thought. Inspiration is running from his clouded mind. It seems as if every rhythm, every beat, every note, has been used in the world, and there is nothing left. He pushes to be authentic, but everything is already taken. Or simply colourless.
The light in front of him is starting to shiver. Or that may just be his eyes, swollen with pure fatigue. He isn’t even sure if it is from the effect of staying up all night or simply the lack of life. His world is drained of movement, not a single wild possum or stray cat scurrying around.
And then the apathy is suddenly gone and replaced by nostalgia washing over his entire being. He still recalls giddily skipping home one day after receiving an invitation letter from the music company he currently works for. How he longs for those days when he was still refreshed with plethoric ideas buzzing through his youthful mind! When he could envision his future creation in front of his eyes, the fresh slew of notes practically begging to be scrawled onto the fresh, crisp, white paper!
So rapidly, it seems, those ephemeral days have fled from him. He allows his mind to amble into a superficial paradise, drifting to the thoughts of his most recent composition.
Three months of gruelling work compressed into three minutes of song. Three minutes of mindless distraction for that schoolgirl listening on the bus. Three minutes of partying for those youngsters at the club. Is three minutes all he’s worth? Do they know of the labour and tears behind the seemingly idyllic melodies?
He begs to ask just one question to the world, those people with wires dangling from their ears as they repeatedly skip songs, choose songs, decide which songs make it and which ones don’t. It’s no big deal for them. Because his music is just a part of their passage to work, to school, to their final destination. But for him? It’s a constant fight to stay within the boundaries, yet break out of them at the same time.
Can anyone out there even hear his music?