NOISE MIRAGE

A prompt response for ~ Inspiration Monday: NOISE MIRAGE

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 Images courtesy of pixabay.com

NOISE MIRAGE

by John Yeo

    “Mr, Eagleton, I am afraid your hearing is well below par and deteriorating rapidly. My advice to you is to take advantage of one of our superior hearing aids, and enjoy what little hearing you have left.”
  The Consultant looked grave as he uttered these words solemnly. “I understand you are a professional musician and your hearing is extremely important to you. Sadly I have to inform you of the fact that you will be profoundly deaf within months.”

  Charles sat stunned in the surgery, unable to move, replaying the words over and over again in his mind. Like the sounds of a funeral dirge, marking the end of his career and his livelihood.

     “Is there no hope of any form of treatment that will counteract the diagnosis? Anything at all, I would even consider a double ear transplant. Please, Doctor; I will pay anything for the chance of a cure.”

     “I’m sorry Mr. Eagleton, there is nothing to be done. My advice is to enjoy every sound you hear as if it is the last sound you will ever hear. Sadly anything you seem to hear in future will be chords and musical passages from your lifetime of musical memories. Something of a noise mirage. Memories of music replaying in your consciousness forever.”

  Charles Eagleton allowed this news to penetrate to the centre of his very being.

     “May I use your toilet please Doctor?”

   “Of course Mr. Eagleton, you know which door by now.” replied the Audiologist, smiling.

    Charles Eagleton locked the door of the large well-fitted disabled toilet and morosely sat on the seat cover. ‘There’s no point in going on; I can’t forever rely on music by mirage! I had a feeling this would happen, good job I thought things through. Vincent Van Gogh was right. What good are ears if you can’t hear anything, I might as well cut the useless appendages off. Maybe I will be able to get some hearing on the other side.’

  He pulled a large sharp kitchen knife from his attaché case and stood before the bathroom mirror poised to cut his ears off and perhaps he thought, ‘I may die of the pain and loss of blood.

   Suddenly the beautiful melodic sound of Beethoven’s seventh symphony resounded through his consciousness, filling his mind with the power of the music.
‘Of course, Beethoven was profoundly deaf at the end, yet he still produced such beautiful music. Perhaps there is something in the theory of a noise mirage, taking the form of beautiful music.’

 He quickly replaced the knife in his briefcase and walked into the consulting room.
   “Thanks Doctor for being so frank; I can see I will have to make some life-altering plans now.”

   “Of course Mr. Eagleton; we will be here to help in every possible way. Make another appointment with my secretary, and we will work together. Goodbye!”

“Thanks, Doctor, I will. Goodbye,”

 

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserveddu

TOUR-de-FARCE

Images Courtesy of pixabay.com

A prompt response for ~ Inspiration Monday: Tour-de-Farce

http://bekindrewrite.com

TOUR-de-FARCE

by John Yeo

    The caravans were parked in a circle on the village green, strategically encircling a large canvas structure, affectionately known to all as the big top. The circus had come to town!  Overnight the village green was transformed, closed in, with a huge area roped off.

  A siren shattered the calm of the village as a paramedic arrived, just in time to deliver a healthy bonny boy with a powerful pair of lungs.

 Billy arrived, born in a caravan; his arrival coincided just as the evening performance was about to begin. His Mum and Dad were professional Clowns

    Postnatal depression soon kicked in; Billy’s Mum was clearly affected by giving birth. Her husband was sympathetic, although he was suffering from a long-term depression himself.

   The circus was always on tour, village to village, town to town, a different background to get used to all the time.

 Dogs guarded the children while the family worked in the big top. Friends; all circus  performers, Acrobats, Jugglers Tightrope Walkers and Dancers all took responsibility to care for the children.

  The Ringmaster ruled the roost, travelling, always travelling; another week, another town as the circus toured the country.

  Education on the move, Billy attended a different school in every town the circus visited. Mum and Dad taught him all they  knew. How to be funny! How to apply makeup to please the customers.

  Uncle Coco committed suicide by overdosing on antidepressants

  Mum and Dad were more sorrowful than ever. They practiced a new water routine to keep the customers happy. The makeup  told a different story as the painted smiles hide the truth. The matinee audience roared with laughter on the day of Uncle Coco’s funeral.

  Billy found the funeral sad as the hearse delivered the coffin containing Uncle Coco’s remains that were quickly consigned to the flames. Uncle Coco’s ashes travelled through many small towns until the touring circus reached his home where his ashes were ceremoniously buried in the local cemetery.

  Another week another small town, the circus tour was never ending. The big top always full, to bursting.

 Billy began to grow up fast and sharp, he became a quick-witted, sensitive young man, following in his father’s footsteps.

 A very gifted clown who knew how to make people happy with his funny routine.

 Then one sad day in the life of Billy arrived with a tremendous shock, Rover his trusty Labrador dog who, went with him everywhere, died suddenly. Billy was devastated at this turn of events, crying uncontrollably. The time for the show arrived and Billy’s father was desperately trying to calm him. As he applied makeup to Billy’s face, the ringmaster arrived and insisted he take his place in the circus ring.

With these words his, Father sent him to the circus ring.

“Laugh Billy, Laugh! You are a clown to fool around and make people laugh. You will always work in the circus on a perpetual Tour-de-farce. No one will ever understand the tears of a clown.”

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved

 

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