NOISE MIRAGE

A prompt response for ~ Inspiration Monday: NOISE MIRAGE

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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

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THE PASSIVE STABILITY OF THE PERFECT LOCK

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Image © Copyright John and Margaret

This is a piece of Flash Fiction based on and inspired by the above photograph

 

THE PASSIVE STABILITY OF THE PERFECT LOCK

by John Yeo

     An amorphous fog was the general state of mind, as far as the future was concerned for Jack, as his life suddenly underwent an incredible change.

   The consulting-room in Harley Street, London, was a plush well furnished suite of rooms.

      “Good morning Sir! How can I help you?” enquired a tall smartly dressed, pretty young woman, in a soft cultured, reassuring voice.

  ‘Wow! Thought Jack, she is obviously a well educated secretary, probably a daughter of wealthy Caribbean parents.

    “Wwwell!” he stammered awkwardly,     “I have an appointment to see Dr Green, my name is Mathews, Jack Mathews.”

   “Just a moment Sir. Ah yes! I will let him know you are here. Please take a seat in the waiting room.”

 Jack sat down in the luxurious surroundings and took in the incredible array of reading material that was strategically placed on various antique coffee tables. ‘I don’t feel like reading’ he thought. His eyes roamed over the walls, he was soon overwhelmed by the gallery of beautiful paintings displayed.

   One particular picture caught his eye. The artist had painted a figure of a man running in abject terror, with his hands covering his face. ‘Obviously based on the famous picture by Edvard Munch,’ he thought. ‘What is that doing here?”

    Then incredibly the image changed to a picture of his life before the bonds of his perfect marriage changed everything. He had been running away from life, until Meg became a part of him. Love had been overwhelming and beautiful, a strong relationship developed, marriage had followed a year later. Bonded, never apart, each day sweeter than the last,

  Many deliriously happy years later the suspicions began to set in. Many differing tests followed; each one pointing more directly to the terminal diagnosis.

      ‘I must do something to tempt the Lord of chance to smile on me. The diagnosis will not come as a terrible shock’ he thought as he went over the last few years in his mind.

     “Doctor Green will see you now, Mr Mathews.”  the secretary smiled as she said these words.

  Jack entered the Doctor’s office nervously with a large lump in his throat, his heart was racing.

   Then he became aware that the doctor was actually smiling. Jack was taken aback as the Doctor went on to say. “I am pleased to say you are totally clear of the symptoms of the cancer you have displayed and you should be clear of fears for the future. Your marriage is the key to a long and a happy life. Congratulations!”

  “There is no cure for this! However can you tell if the perfect lock is secure if you have no keys?” asked Jack

    “Love is the cure! The answer will be the happiness in the face that looks back at you from any mirror in the world,”  was the reply.

     “My secretary will see you on your way out to settle up once and for all. You will require no further appointments.”

 

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.  

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Image © Copyright John and Margaret