Young Writers Society

The window reflects my face, painting it over the dark nighttime rain as it pours down outside. My CD player comes to a halt as it finishes the last track. A small part of me wants to reach over and start it up again, just to keep some level of noise in the room so that my thoughts do not become too loud. But the larger part of me doesn’t care. The window is reflecting my face… and just a little bit more…

I look in the window and see myself… and I see my father.

I have so little of him. Just a box in my room and a mind that I wished was full of memories. I had so many things in that box: a shirt that he wore all the time, a book that he loved, a few extra violin strings that he never got around to using. But in my own mind there is so little.

When I look in the mirror, he’s there, peeking out from behind my eyes. When I see a photograph that my family has saved of him, he’s always there smiling. But I can’t remember him being there with me. And I can’t remember him smiling at me. I remember a song he used to sing over and over. But I can’t hear his voice and I can’t hear him sing it. I wish that just once, I could.

The silence is too much, and I reach over and I hit the play, button, a little harder than I had intended to. The CD starts up again, but now it’s too late. No matter how much I turn it up, the music will never be as loud as what is in my head.

I want to remember. I need to remember just a little bit of him.

The song starts playing in my head… Not the song on the CD, but the one he used to sing.

When a man he serves the Lord
It makes his life worthwhile.

I half-heartedly try to listen to the song in the CD player. But I want to remember. I want to hear him.

It don't matter 'bout his position
It don't matter 'bout his lifestyle.
Talk about perfection
I ain't never seen none
And there ain't no man righteous
No not one.

For a moment, I almost think that I hear his voice. But no, it’s gone again. All that’s there is the words of the song, playing in my head.

I close my eyes, and force myself to concentrate.

Sometimes the devil likes to drive you from the neighborhood.
He'll even work his ways through those whose intentions are good.
Some like to worship on the moon, others are worshipping the sun
And there ain't no man righteous
no not one.

Suddenly, I can’t even remember the words.

Look around… something… something… social hypocrites
Something… something… do just the opposite.

I want to scream. He’s there. Somewhere. I know he is. But somehow, I just can’t pull him up.

Angrily, I reach over and turn up the volume. Somehow I’ll make it loud enough to drown out the thoughts in my head and the memories that won’t come.

This was honestly very beautiful and for once I paid attention to what you wrote becaus usually by this time I am in my "zone"
I really loved this and if it is true then it was lovely. if it wasn't it still was... My favorite part was...

The silence is too much, and I reach over and I hit the play, button, a little harder than I had intended to. The CD starts up again, but now it’s too late. No matter how much I turn it up, the music will never be as loud as what is in my head.

Because it's so true. When you don't want to think you need noise but sometiems it doesn't help. I liked this a lot. (Violin eh, nice pick, i played it myself)

Thank you. I was actually combining several different things in this... Pieces of myself (like trying to drown out thoughts when you just can't), Pieces of my boyfriend, (like trying to remember his father's voice), and somehow, pieces of Christine Daae from THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA (that's where the violin came in).

If there's any comments you can make on how to change it and make it better, please let me know.

i thought it was great! it's like the kind of thing i write so i could really connect to what you wrote! i really enjoyed it! please write more!

Thank you so much. I don't think I'll be adding anything more onto this particular piece though...