The Song has no name. It began playing in everyone's head half a year ago, and has not stopped since. When the song reaches its end it loops and starts over again. When that ends it loops again, over and over and over and the familiar tones seep into our minds, comforting us again and again forever and ever with their repetition. The Song is our past- our future. It is all that matters now.
Everyone remembers where they were when they first heard the Song. I was buying coffee in a shop downtown when the first few solemn beats entered my head. I dropped the coffee and the thin Styrofoam cup burst apart as it hit the ground. It did not matter because I couldn't feel the hot liquid splashing onto my sandals and feet. I was so happy, I was weeping, raising my arms up to the sky. When the Song began everyone dropped what they were holding and began crying tears of joy.
Many of us ran outside, looking up into the air for something that wasn't there. Some proclaimed it was "God" but they soon forgot the idea. Others began to make theories. The rhythms, beats, wavelengths, pitches, tones, echoes and sounds in general were analyzed deeply, but those who studied the Song stopped thinking about it soon enough. The Song did not need to be explained, it was just there, a new part of us. It was all we needed; it was bringing us together in new ways. The Song brought a glorious feeling of unification.
People began to walk in beat to the Song, speak in beat to the Song, play sports and do work in beat to the Song, breaking out with wild bursts of energy in frenzied dance, eventually all dancing in the same, hypnotic motion- but that was soon dropped. What was the point of any of that when you could just listen to the Song?
Thanks to the Song the concept of sleep went away, much to everyone's further happiness. We lay in bed, listening to the Song. Often people from other houses would begin to sing the Song as loudly as they could, and the whole neighborhood would join in. The harmony would rise from our houses, up into the brilliant light of the stars. Some made the mistake of singing at a wrong pitch. They did not sing with us again.
Because there was no work, there was no more food production, and no more conveniences- but that was okay. There was already plenty of food in our homes: animals, as well as little infants that screamed and did not seem to hear the song. Expiration dates on foods were found to only be recommendations: drinking thick, chunky milk while listening to the Song made it taste better.
But soon taste didn't really matter either and we began to eat merely so we could continue to listen to the Song. We packed inside grocery stores, the perfect places to listen to the Song and nourish ourselves. When a grocery store ran out of food we would stampede outside to find another place, and usually several of us would be crushed in the process. Then we would have an extra day before having to leave.
One day we came across a man screaming and writhing in the streets, twisting and pulling at his hair. He did not like the Song and he wanted it out of his head. We pulled apart his limbs and hurt him in many other ways, and when he could no longer speak, we took him into us. We met others like him and we took action similarly.
Our journey is long and arduous, but the Song pushes us onward, and when someone falls behind, or can no longer even move at all, we recognize what they are and allow them to help us keep our strength. When we came upon other groups we would form together, creating one cohesive band, in this way we grow stronger.
We move across broken paths and past tall, wrecked structures, we scream in tune to the song, some of us holding hands, and days later, finding ourselves joyously connected by a thick rope of flesh.
At night, when my lungs are tired and I can no longer summon the energy to scream, I push my lungs to their full extent and release a tiny contributive sound like wind-blown leaves rustling across a concrete lot.