Music As Guns

In the middle of a war torn country, there was Jack, a man divided by his military position and his desire. He could only hope to sleep between the noise and the fighting – and when he slept, his mind moved to the music softly.

The dear things that Jack longed for in his family, his guitar, and beautiful landscapes. Still, they were but echoes to the real octave that was the war out there.

Day by day, as the fatigue finally overtook him and dragged him to the sleep, Jack was brought into the world of nightmares through a melody. Surrounding him was the low murmur of violins, sad and mournful, as if the people who died from the effects battle were mourning with strings.

The dreams were laid out in dramatics as if they were a grand opera, with Jack at the center and watching. Again on the place where people used to listen staccato of gunfire and the thunder of explosion, now there was music, sad music, melody which penetrate through darkness.

This was a disturbing paradox typical of Delboeuf’s dreams in which governments used instead of shooting, and play a piece of music on a baton in the middle of a fighting war music. They exchanged their guns for violin, and swords for clarinets, and the wars ceased to be fought in the bloody grounds of Denov, but in music.

However, as if this heavenly place was not good enough for him, Jack’s conscience followed him deep down into this world. Every rise was accompanied by the burden of his sin, of the lives he’s claimed in the name of the service.

With the intensity of his invigorated and recurring dreams, Jack became engulfed in the music that was taking a hold of him. Desiring nothing more than to become enveloped within the warm comforting folds of sleep, he ached to be enshrouded by its soothing blanket. But the reality was more severe, she was a strict mistress and she dragged him back to the battle’s melody.

In real life, Jack had sleepless nights filled with pain, while his mind could not reconcile the duality of the spectrum between the beautiful and the barbaric. He was left with the faces, the eyes of those he killed, and the voices of the dead ringing in the corridors of his mind.

As each day was passing, the hold on the man’s mental stability appeared to be slipping further away from him. He walked like a apparition through trenches; the look of his dead like eyes which had seen too much, feeling exhausted with the hopelessness that he carried on his face. Everything around continued to fade away, and the difference between the dream world and the real world grew hazy.

Even in those few instances, when he gained consciousness, he would retreat to a small room in his head, and the music was still playing in the background, but it was faint. He would shut his eyes, and let the strains drip on him like the spiritual healing he needed on his bruised heart.

There was, however, no escaping war even in the corner of his mind, as illustrated by the following quote. The music which used to shelter him, became a painful reminder of all that was out of reach. Every note implied grief, and was a dirge for the lost ones.

After days turned into weeks, that’s when Jack almost went mad. Between what is real and what is simulated, there could no longer be distinctions and he found himself in a complete state of confusion.

But even in the environment that was filled with uncertainty and agony, there was a hope. There was a tune that said everything was going to be fine. By the eve of his miserable life, he managed to stand up once more, and denied the melody of desolation that wanted to capture him.

With every gun shot, Jack carried in the back of his mind the reverb of the songs within his deepest dreams, as they served as a constant reminder that not every sound was the percussive beats of warfare. Someday, there’d be a silence only broken by a crescendo of hope rising above. The external wounds inflicted in battle may never be fully healed, but in the depth of the darkest nights, there'd be a symphony of peace yearning to be heard.

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