Life Born from Death, Etc.

War always led to dire places. Surrounded by destruction, a lone musician, the sole survivor of a once-joyful quintet, played a minor key. From there it developed into a song of longing; for what once was, and for what could’ve been. It could’ve been better. It should’ve been. But humanity could be a real piece of shit sometimes.

For a moment, the clear melody of a clarinet could be heard from beneath rubble. Survivors of both bombing and mandatory drafting stepped out into the light and stood. For once, everything stood still.

Maybe the soldiers had decided they preferred the music of woodwind instruments rather than whistling bullets from smoking guns. Maybe they were just tired. But in that moment, the war miraciously ended.

A boy of ash and dust, realized for the first time in a long time, that maybe he had a future. That melody breathed purpose back into his body, moving aside death.

As the boy grew from nothing to something, the melody accompanied him. From doorstep slumbers to a post-war orphanage, it eased his aches. Afterall, without it, he would have died long ago.

This melody not only blew life into his lungs but also brought comradery. Another survivor with hair prematurely peppered grey, joined him. Together, they’d hum along the medicinal melody, saving each other.

As they grew into men, arguments arose quickly. Perhaps about a common attraction, finance, or even just the past. But their song broke, and they decided to part ways.

Peppered-boy, who was now a silver-headed man, had stormed off. He was hell-bent on making it big. And he had a theory.

Peppered by trauma, he became a daredevil, intent on finding trouble and ways out of it. In every dark alley and rowdy spot, you’d find him, humming his borrowed tune and dodging death. Each time, he was successful.

He quickly understood that that melody was a lifesaving tune. And if something could save you, it could be marketed. If he could market it, then he would be rich.

He bounced from company to company, door to door, pitching his tune as a life elixir. While all those who heard it, thought he’d lost it, they’d quickly realize it was true. An assistant caught himself humming and avoided a drunk driver. A company-head wanted by competition narrowly avoided a bullet in the shower while murmuring the melody. Many more similar stories emerged, and soon the silver-haired man felt like gold. And all thanks to a stolen tune from a broken boy who lived halved by a broken friendship.

The golden man, now dressed in the best thievery could buy, walked along the richer avenues, humming his golden tune. Not far from him, a pop song blasted out of a cafe.

Distracted, the tune took on a new form, and he lost his rhythm, tripped, and fell into an oncoming bus.

He was pronounced dead at the scene.