Remnants of the Past

The Sounds of Hell

The Sounds of Hell

I entered my house to find the peace disturbed. Neighbors stood in the yard staring at my home. Shrieking, loud and long, exuded from the depths of my abode. The frightening howl of a dying animal permeated the stillness of the day. I went in search of the cause.

The living room held few clues, minus the explosion of trash on the floor. Papers and cellophane were strewn about in a turbulent fashion. Dimitri, my guard dog, sat howling a pitiful cry of pain. His head was buried under the blankets and pillows that lined the couch.

The noise continued, piercing my soul. A rage cultivated in my breast as defender of my home and hearth. I readied for battle with the devil's spawn now nesting in my midst.

Cautiously, I made my way down the hall in search of my trespasser of peace. Cradling a knife in my hand, I was determined to fend off the evil within these walls. The sounds amplified as I closed in on the source of ear-splitting transmission from hell. I threw open the door of my son's bedroom, in an agonized panic that he was in danger. Mama bear would risk life and limb to save her child. The first sight I captured informed me that I was too late to save him.

I was sure the devil inhabited his soul. The sounds emanating from him were unworldly. His cheeks were puffed and a violent color of red. Sweat dripped from his brow as putrid salted teardrops. He stared ahead captivated by the papers in front of him. My husband stood at his side, wobbling in his stance, startled by my entrance. He pulled the tiny pink earplugs from the depths of his ears.

"Hey, honey. Look what we bought, a tuba. We been talking about teaching him an instrument and this is what he picked out. Isn't it awesome? He really seems to like it."

The knife fell from my hand with the only words that I could muster sliding from my lips," A flute, I said a flute! "

Later in calm discussions with my spouse and after days of the repeated assault upon my eardrums, my reply was more focused.

"Either that goes or I do!"


Word count 351
P.S. My son ended up playing the tuba for 5 years. It grew on me.