The Sound of Mundus
by Cirandil
I know what people say about me. She’s gifted. No, she’s misguided. Stupid. There’s something wrong with her. What do they know? They just can’t hear the world the way I do.
They all look at me funny when I say “could you make two steps to the right? You’re causing a dissonance” or “your breathing is out of key, can you quieten down a bit?” They will never know what it’s like. Until the day my masterpiece is completed. Soon, I think. I learned to transcribe music so I can preserve my world. Nice days. Harmonic days. Bad days. Discordance. Yes, I think a grand concert will do it justice. There is a question of instrumentation, of course. Is a chair an oboe or a flute, I wonder?
Some days, some places, the sound is just too much to bear. When the pebbles sing to you a cacophony and the clouds are aligned all wrong. I freeze up. I cover my ears and scream and scream until the noises stop. Nobody wants to approach me on days like this. They steer clear, leaving me to cry my lungs sore. Alone.
Other days are not quite so bad. Inconveniences, I’ll call them. When a two thousand part orchestra is thrown off by a single discordant player. Out of time, out of key. Yes, that’s it, it’s the twig, isn’t it? Perhaps if I move it a little to my left, no, right. If it isn’t just so, the whole concert will be thrown off and I shall suffer a sad and broken song. I do not scream, but I cannot think straight. They wonder why I ask for quiet until the twig is moved, or the winds change.
I like the sound of the rainfall best. A lot of people don’t like the rain. Or muddy puddles. People are so fussy about getting their boots dirtied, and cannot appreciate the intricate melodies they are missing out on. It was on a rainy day that I heard it. The most beautiful piece that ever reached my ears. I knew that if I could capture this sound, it would be my one true masterpiece.
I just managed to jot down the first few bars before I was rudely interrupted by a person on business from Lillandril. I was mortified. He changed the whole piece just by being there, and now it shall remain unfinished. A single sheet of parchment on an unfinished theme. I keep it close to me and pray to my Lord Sheogorath that I may be blessed with His sweet music once more.
Today isn’t so bad. The ink pot hums a soft melody to me. It’s quite a simple tune, a few subtle syncopations here and there but nothing worth scoring. Combined with the rhythmic scratchings of the quill - yes. I’d say this is decent background music.