The night the Rhymer went whack

43

Sound is manifested in its reception; therefore no two sounds can be the same.

He delicately removed the coverings and noticed just a little blood from the suturing that had grown into his skin. He had closed the window and asked his mom to leave, giving him space to not be over burdened by the reemergence of sound. Done, he now sat in silence. Soundproof my foot, he thought, having never been truly able to get rid of that light humming only he could hear. He began a light purring to himself, then a slight whistle, then a few tongue clicks and finger snaps.

He patted his legs, arms chest and stomach, breathing in and out, all while reacquainting himself with noise, believing each sound to be more intense, more sharp and more defined. He couldn’t replicate the same sound twice though he tried but was still able to distinguish the difference. For hours he mimicked as many pitches and tones he could muster until his throat grew sore and his voice rasp. He rested then awoke then repeated the process. Thousands upon thousands of sounds replicated. He changed his seating position, got further away and closer to the wall. He bounced his sounds off his hands and feet and used each ear independently, at times, to capture what he heard.

]He produced many sounds simultaneously and absorbed them as best as he could, different sound waves to different ears at different lengths and different frequencies. For over a week he continued, in silence, engrossed in his own noise, and soon, he found what he was looking for. On rhythm an in harmony. Only then did he emerge, ready to take on the world.