I heard distant voices echo down the corridors of time, like swan songs from dead prisoners’ choirs celebrating their release. They were invisible, concealed in history’s majestic mists. Some were out of key with those who sang in harmony, as a sour din grated my nerves. Some voices were muddled with confliction, as some complained their most recent lives were a wanderer’s journey in solitary darkness. Some moaned a kind of grief that resonated a sorrow that stabbed at those who could identify with them.
“Do you hear that,” a melancholy soul asked, whose eyes darted vacantly across a void. I nodded to sympathize with his reverie. “I identify with that kind of desperation. It’s a godless world,” he added. I disagreed with his summation but said nothing. Immediately, happier voices overrode his dismal wails joyously. They lifted the doldrums, “Did you hear those?” That same soul, shook his head, saying “Hear what?” “How could you not hear that?” I shouted. He backed away from me as though I was crazy.
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