‘People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
No one dared
Disturb the sound of silence’
“Silence is golden, or so they say.”
“But when the universe breathes in dulcet tones of an eternal melody, silence is anything but golden. Silence has become the sound of my nightmares, an unheard cosmic scream of agony. That which was once thriving with vibrant life now turned cold.”
“Music that once played out in harmony now lies deathly still within the sound of silence. I long to hear once more the beat of this world. The song of life that my strings are so used to humming.”
“The song begins with the cries of life, as medical machines bleep and whir their melodies of welcome. A happy chorus rings true as children play and dance, their lives full of hope and promise.”
“But you have silenced their song, and they dance no more. For La Musica is broken.”
“The song of life used to wind its way through emotional highs and lows. The rhythm of monotony once echoed through the levels of Arcadia as people find their own song and learn to play its strings. The music of Agora, which once teemed with song, now silenced.”
“I stand and watch as the flute player, desperate to capture a sense of that song, clings wearily to her instrument without purpose. A world that once echoed a thousand melodies at once, now crying silently… For La Musica is broken.”
“My guitar, once tuned to echo the cadences of Arcadia’s final moments, marrying the song of life with my own musica de la muerte, gently weeps. Silenced by silence. For La Musica is broken.”
“I still hear the melody in my head, the longing for music through the beat of Arcadia. Manuscript that fills my mind with lyrics unheard.”
‘I look at the world and I notice it’s turning
While my guitar gently weeps
With every mistake we must surely be learning
Still my guitar gently weeps’
“You see, mi amigo, music is within anything and everything. Arcadia cries out to me its song, and it must be played. We just change that which we listen to.”
El Mariachi Muerte raises the guitar, strumming the strings. A horrid clanging and untuneful noise rings out.
“Ah, music to my ears. Because noise is just music waiting to be arranged. Waiting to be repaired, put back together and played once more.”
‘Silence like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you”
Echoed in the wells of silence’
The Mariachi stomps his feet, unrhythmically. The sounds of stomping and strumming clash with no clear rhythm. But it brings a smile to his sorrowed face.
“You robbed my world of music, so I will teach it to play once more. Only I, who hears what Arcadia has lost, can reveal what is hidden underneath that which you have broken.”
“I will play my song for you, Doctor. Can you hear it yet? Or shall I play a little louder?”