He heard the trees rustle, and the distant joyous laughter. The key to recalling memories, Demetri thought, was the sound. If you could hear it, then all you need to do to be there, is close your eyes.
Demetri looked around. The party was bright, people laughed and danced in the middle of the cramped living room, screaming the lyrics. Careless teenagers trying to vanish into the music and sound. Demetri closed his eyes, and blocked it out all out. He went deaf, his mind blocking out the sound. Silence. He was sitting at a table at the party, but he could just as easily be sitting at a bench. He fabricated sounds.
Demetri hadn’t always been in control of his auditory hallucinations. They came as a side effect of Demetri’s schizophrenia. Everybody could pretend to not hear something, but what happened when your unstable mind panicked and went creative mode on your senses? Well, you learned to use it to the best of your abilities.
The party finally faded, a headache building behind Demetri’s ears, as he breathed out a calming breath. He heard trees rustling again. Demetri heard a breeze brush against his ear, and a voice calling out to him. Demetri didn’t open his eyes, no need to. He was sitting on a summer day at his favorite bench in the park he went to in his old town. He heard the quiet bustle of cars, and the strumming of the guitar player, who “played for the sun”. At least that’s what he said when Demetri had asked him why he played outside everyday.
“I play for the sun, and for whatever tomorrow brings.” He had told 8 year old Demetri with a gap toothed but friendly smile. Demetri heard it all. Suddenly he heard the pounding of a mallet against wood. His setting changed, and he was sitting on his lawn at his old house, in the fall. The wind was louder this day, and he heard lots of leaves being crunched. Demetri could almost feel the soft brittle leaves under his hands, which come to think of it, he had trouble feeling in general… The pounding continued, pulling Demetri further into the hallucination. The pounding was of a “For Sale” sign being pounded into Demetri’s front lawn.
His setting changed again, drastically and without provocation, like it had when Demetri was younger. Demetri tried to open his eyes, but something was holding him back.
Yelling. Screaming voices, and pounding feet. Followed by shattered glass that filled the silence more then the screams did. Demetri couldn’t feel his body, all he could do was hear. He was huddled in the basement closet, barely over 10. All of the sound muffled by the towels around him, which made the room the quietest in the house. The room Demetri retreated to to convince himself he wasn’t hearing anything. The sound of a door opening broke the silence, and Demetri felt his aunts arms wrap around him, and hold him as he sobbed.
Demetri heard the judge. He fell out of his aunts loving arms and into a courtroom.
“Victoria Donovan is guilty of manslaughter of her husband Samuel Donovan, and is sentenced to 60 years in prison. In addition, she is guilty for the abuse of her son Demetri Donovan, which adds an additional 10 years to her sentence.” The slam of the judges hammer on the stand felt like a blow directly to Demetri’s head. Sound became a cacophony in Demetri’s ears, and time flowed by, he heard sentences and parts of conversations, he heard crying and laughing. He heard his name spoken a thousand times. Every so often he would hear the strum of a guitar on a sunny day. Demetri’s eyes snapped open finally.
Tears streamed from his face. And he blinked them away and looked around. Only one person was in the hospital room. He gave Demetri a gap toothed smile, and ran his hand across his guitar strings, filling the room with music.
“I play for the sun Demetri, and occasionally for those people in need”
I write by Starlight 