Essay on I Can 't Remember The Last Time I Heard

Essay on I Can 't Remember The Last Time I Heard

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I can’t remember the last time I heard music.
I’m alive, yet I can’t recall how it feels to live. To live is to experience. To appreciate the little things, like the touch of another human. An honest glance or expression. An inclination of interest. Instead, I survive in a country where people no longer communicate. We don’t feel anything, nor are we allowed to. Laughing? What does that sound like?
This is my reality. The world I “live” in. A muted blur of infinite, empty repetition: Wake up, go to work, talk to no one, sleep alone and repeat. A process that numbs me. Today, however, could be the day it all comes to an end.
As I walk beneath a relentless, stifling sun, I approach an isolated patch of grass a few yards from the divide. Its vibrant green stands out, drowning in an endless sea of infertile dirt and gravel.
Admiring its strength, and happy to procrastinate my inevitable decision, I stop to observe it.
Life pushing through death, beauty stronger than filth… A refreshing concept.
Giving in to the urge to feel the Earth beneath my feet, I remove my shoes and socks and stand on the grass. Tiny prickles enlighten my sensitive soles.
A rare gust of wind blows by and cools my skin. A twinge of sentiment runs through my chest. I stretch my arms forward and close my eyes, craving forward motion.
After the initiation of the Lockdown, our ability to remember the past began to diminish; a possible side-effect of the entertainment void. But, the truth is, there’s no legitimate explanation for it.
Today, our memories are non-existent. They found a way to escape us, hiding in dark corners and watching us from afar while we wait, paralyzed under their glare.
Waves of dirt brush against my feet, breaking my spell with its sharp, yet...

... middle of paper ...

...s me smile.
I close my eyes and flip the card between my fingers. When it stops, I’ll check if she’s facing me. If she is, I’ll take a chance. If she’s looking the other way, I’ll follow suit.
Around and around she goes. Can’t rush it.
Random thoughts rattle my mind like caged animals with raw meat dangling just out of reach. No memories to grab ahold of. What is there to remember? What can anyone remember anymore? For the good of our own safety, they say! But at what cost?
I halt the queen. Her eyes gaze up at me.
I slip the card back into my pocket and wait for the right moment.
The guard turns his back to me and my adrenaline charges me forward. I pass by him and stop at The Wall.
He swings his body around and points his gun at me. “Hold it right there!”
I raise my hands.
“Can I help you with something?” he asks.
I smirk. “Maybe. Not sure yet.” I drop my hands and

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