Flash Fiction: Heart Song

She was born with a song in her heart, though it took her many long years to hear it. It presented itself at odd times, the melody implanted in her brain, in her memory, so that when anything hinted at the strain she’d begin humming along. Only hours later would she realize that there was no music playing, none besides what had already been orchestrated within her mind. It was a refrain that was tattooed onto her brain, a song she had always believed originated within her.

It  didn’t, of course. It belonged to something so much older than herself, so old she’d never believe it if told. Not at first. But it was hard to deny the melody, the completeness of it, the layered composition only she could hear. It was hard to deny that children don’t compose music that way, not when they are so small, not when they know nothing of music or the world. Only because she didn’t want to experience the panic attack that came along with realizing that your entire life has been a lie. That your entire life you’ve been humming a song you didn’t write, but was written into you.

It was trying to tell her something, the music. It was a message. Not just for her, but for all those who could hear it. All those special enough to wake up with the song vibrating in their bones. Come find us, it pleaded. We have been lost. We are lost, and we are waiting. Come find us, it pleaded, again and again, for many long years.

And many heard. Many answered. But not her. She had denied its existence for so long, had pleaded with her god to push it down, to extinguish it, to destroy the sheet music so that she might never find it again. She knew it meant that there was something beyond her, something bigger tugging, tugging at her elbow. An insistent child, with a plea you know you should listen to but don’t want to. Mommy’s busy right now, sweet heart. It’s not a good time. She was so stubborn, always had been.

The song was more stubborn.







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