When We Become Outcasts

Diminishing Voices

Horsetail hairs gently stroke nylon strings and a melody awakens—soft. A rich percussive beat pulses underneath—building. Energetic fingers dance over electric strings—intensifying. Entering, his voice carries emotional weight; and I, I fall in love.

This music floods my ears, consumes my mind. It needs to be no louder than a whisper as it slices through the silence of the house. Serenity drapes the atmosphere. I sway, unconsciously singing the words that have been etched into my mind, repeating the album for the hundredth time.

If I were to drown the house in my music, however, I would not hear the end of it: screams, shouts, yells from my family would tear the thin veil of peacefulness.

Glancing down at the glowing phone screen, I study the image. Figures loom in the distance. Sand invades every crevice and whirls with the wind, blurring these dark figures. They begin to glide forward without gaining ground. One figure breaks from the pack becoming front and center. The wind calms. Brightness reflects off the recently disposed bones – skulls, shoulders, ribs, thighs, feet – scattered underneath the settling sand. Contrasting to the surrounding light, impenetrable gloom gravitates toward the figure. This dense cloak covers the non-existent body. Horns dress the shadowed face.

I stand motionless. Watching. Waiting. Fear grips me. It tangles within me. It roots me to the ground. I can't move. I can't think. I can only stare.

Coolness drapes the desert as the sun droops within the sky. Silhouettes of ghosts arise from mangled piles of bones, reminding me of the battle; the wild ones, like me, who were once alive. Ice punctures my skin. Shackles of ice bind my ankles. Shivers crawl up my body. From my chest to my wrist to my throat, I am frozen. Knees buckling—

"You can't buy the album."

I gasp.

Pulling away from the image, fear that cannot disappear as the tightening in my chest intensifies. Annoyance drips in my voice, "Can you not understand the message, Mom?" Her hazel eyes bore into me, daring me to continue. "You never understand anything. You're too closed minded. You can't listen. Can you not see the image?" I point to the screen displaying the album artwork. Admiring the picture again, my annoyance dissipates just slightly enough for my shoulders to slump forward and my hair to fall in front of my gaze, hiding her eyes from mine.

"I can see the image, perfectly fine. It looks dark—" She runs her hands through her thinning hair in frustration. "—demented, devilish. What made you choose this?"

"Will you hear me out?"

"Katie, this is not you. This is not the music you listen to." Rising in volume, her voice carries an urgent anger that has determination to override me. My annoyance follows. Along with a tightness gripping and twisting my stomach into a knot, I fight the urge to spit back.

"I'm not sure who you are right now."

"Mom, listen—"

"What's wrong? What's changed? Where did my Katie-baby go?"

"She didn't go anywhere. I haven't changed mom." Eyes narrowing, my control slips through my moist fingers. "If only you would listen." My voice rises, strains, cracks. "If only you'd give me a chance to explain..."

Retaliation did not follow. Deathly silence did.

A heartbeat or an hour; time becomes insignificant. My kitchen becomes a battle ground. In our eyes, we battle.

Pressing my lips together, a white line forms. Frustration blazes in my eyes. Yet I can see my world burning down within hers. Opaque pupils reflect blue, green, red, orange; every color except black illuminates, spreading far and wide. Slowly catching fire, each pillar of trust crumbles. And only white ash billows in their wake with no embers left to rekindle her anger.

"You can't buy the album," she repeats, finally breaking the silence. My mouth opens, yet not a breath passes before her voice override my attempt. "I said no."

Taking a deep breath, "It's a futuristic conceptual album. A group of rebels try to over throw the government, For Every and All Religion, better known as F.E.A.R."

"They are out-casting religion!" she screamed, mortified.

"Mom, just listen, there's bound to be controversy." The words fall from my mouth faster and faster; having a mind of their own wanting to breach freedom. "F.E.A.R lurks everywhere—in every house, under our beds, and behind every door. In today's world it represents fear. Intangible. The emotion, our emotion, fear. The Wild Ones, the rebels, they plan an uprising. When F.E.A.R hears of this rebellion, The Wild Ones disappear slowly. One by one they are captured. Thrown into cages—"

"This is insanity! There is nothing but fiction and defiance in your head, Katie!"

"It's a veil covering our reality. But you don't see it." I plug in my headphones. "You'll never see it," I hiss. Without care, I blast the volume. Dashing up the stairs, hands cover my face to withhold the tears threatening to fall. I slam my bedroom door before collapsing onto the comfort of my bed. I close my eyes.

A chill streaks my face, underneath each eye.

Registering the ending of F.E.A.R's final transmission, I lose myself as the percussion begins to pound. A new song reverberates my eardrums. Voices scream 'In the End'; and I, I hear a message.

Maybe it's hard for some to hear, I don't know. I open my eyes, however, and wipe the tearstains. In the end my voice is strong enough to determine my legacy.