A blind world

Sound of death

The woman traced her soft lips with the red lipstick, her piercing blue eyes staring back at her through her reflection in the mirror, shifting to the reflection of her husband who had just entered the room. "We're going to be late again, Deborah" the man spoke, his delicate voice echoing a bit too romantic to the woman's ears. "Hmm, so what? We're allowed to be fashionably late" the woman said, clear from her voice that she was smiling as she returned her attention to her own reflection; brown hair, falling in thick curls on her shoulders, eyes with a colour that was richer than the sea and a dress only fitting her social rank as the wife of a well-paid history professor. The man only scoffed and Deborah could practically feel him rolling his eyes at her comment. Joe hated being late, Deborah learnt that much from their first date, when hewas there ten minutes earlier. But she loved running five minutes later than everyone else and Joe knew it. After all, he was there waiting for her for twenty minutes.

"Alright, stop judging me in silence, I'm ready" she said, a bit tired of feeling her husband's intense stare on her back while she was fixing her hair. "I'll go get Daniel" she hummed upon standing up from her stool, her golden dress fitting her like liquid diamonds. She wondered whether her son would be ready, since-unfortunately- he had inherited his mother's habit of taking his sweet time to do anything. She walked towards Joe, placing her hand on his shoulder and planting a generous kiss on his cheek. The man couldn't resist the woman's charms and cracked a smile, his sun kissed skin making him appear a little older than he was. And just as Deborah turned on her heel to head towards the door, she felt Joe's hand on hers, stopping her from walking away. "Just let him stay home, honey. You know he doesn't like these stuff" Joe whispered, as if he was scared that Daniel would be listening to him.

Deborah's expression softened, shaking her head a little. "He'll come. The invitation for the gala is for the whole family-" she began but the blond man cut her off, his eyes avoiding hers for some seconds. "Your family" he said. "You're my family. Just as much as Daniel is", she explained, her voice so genuine, so loving and caring. She reached to place a hand on his cheek, feeling his skin a little rough even though he had shaved earlier that day. "I doubt he agrees with that" the male insisted, thing that broke Deborah's heart. But what hurt more, was the fact that he was right. Ever since she had gotten married again, to a man who wasn't Daniel's dad, her son refused to accept this sudden change. "He's trying" Deborah whispered, feeling her eyes burn with tears, refusing to cry nonetheless. "I know. Forcing him to be with me won't help him. I think he needs some space" Joe suggested, and Deborah chuckled, a sad chuckle. She hated that her husband was right so often, but she loved his understanding on the situation. "Right. I'll-"

Her words were cut short by the sound of a melody that was a bit too familiar to her, music played on the piano, surely by her eleven-year-old son. A frown appeared on her carefully shaped eyebrows, her gaze a little distant before recognition took over. And then fear. And then panic. She looked at Joe, as if she expected for him to catch on what she had realized, but he didn't. Of course he didn't, Joe was a human, a mere history professor at the university. He listened to music when Deborah heard death and chaos coming. And as if time slowed down, Deborah ran outside of her bedroom, her movements smooth yet sharp at the same time. It was a miracle she didn't twist her ankle by running on her heels, although it wasn't like she ran far away. With each step of hers she could hear the next note being pressed, death mocking her, laughing in her mind. "You're not going to make it"

Deborah begged death to let her save her son, to get to him before he was going to be lost just like her husband. She wanted to hug him one last time, she wanted to hear him call her 'mum' and complain about being too old for kisses on the cheek. She ran towards the end of the hallway, desperate to get to her boy, almost falling on the door of the music room in order to open it. The opened door revealed the last picture that she would ever see as death decided to be generous; there sat her son at the piano's stool, his back straight and his hands set on the black and white keys. His hair were a black, curly mess -just like his father's used to be- and, despite his attempts to act all grown up, it was still very much clear that he was just a boy. Could this possibly be the reason death decided to spare him and take Deborah instead?