Ripples

Dull sounds echoed through the hall, as he beat bare skin with sticks in his hands. With every hit the noise intensified, drowning out the clamour of those who stood before him. He wanted to stop, none of it felt right anymore, but he knew far too well that he couldn’t.

He was never able to, or at least not since the day he made it his career and signed his soul to the men that promised him more than just being a hired hand. Therefore, he continued the rhythmic and yet robotic motion, dazed by his own depression, until the skin’s vibrations finally mesmerised him. It had always been the most beautiful sensation he thought. A sacred light in his ocean of darkness.

If only he could slow time and follow each ripple flowing from the point of impact to the outer bounds of the skin. This, and the ability to provide for his family were the only things that kept him going all these years. But it was only a matter of time, until his eardrums would pop, finally ending the old percussionist’s contractual imprisonment.