Night swells. The cold is flowing through the broken window. A sink in the bathroom is dripping too. Each blob of water is a sad cord in the closing song of humanity. I had fled. As far from large cities as possible. This wretched motel was not only a refuge for me, but also my worn-out mind.

Another drop plunged to its death in the ceramic coffin. A faint glimpse of the warm days I remembered floats back. No, no. Concentrate on writing. I must not let my mind submit. I do not know what evil or harm is in it, but I saw how easily my friends surrendered.

Their will, for anything, shriveled as they succumbed to the melody. The sharps and flats took away all energy. The harmony sucked dry all human nature. They were left with nothing but empty bodies and stone cold eyes. They were vacant.

For the past week, or so, all those I saw around me become crazed with this one song. I even enjoyed it myself. But then, people began to change. They walked forward, not caring if their path was into a car. The news played the haunting rhythm 24 hours a day.

The change seemed overnight. But my hearing had been damaged from birth. Some would call it a defect. In this instance, though, it proved to be an advantage. It allowed me to break free of the monotony, to perceive the difference. I enjoyed the new sound, yet, somehow, every time I heard the song, I seemed to be slipping. I was making tea for a friend, and as the song played, she thrust her hand into the boiling water. Not even a scream.

I had run. Literally. The gas station was in shambles. So, I ran here instead. I guess it was some kind of moral "duty" to stay and fight with all the others. But my own skin was more important, and here, all alone, I could hold back much better.

I guess this last testament is my contribution to all those out there who are in peril, but really don't know it yet.

I'm not a scientist so my explanation of this song is garbage. All I know is it controls its listeners. I can fight it because all the waves of sound don't reach my brain. But, whoever is behind this will soon take me as their victim too.

It's very lonely here. The sink is still dripping. The cold is chilling my bones. Ah, the warmth is coming back. No. No. I must keep writing.

Every man, woman, and child has been reduced to a stupor. They sit and drool all day. Most only eat when hunger pinches them. I was there for a while, but I pushed it all back. Their brains no longer dream, or think, or feel. They stare blankly.

I shall think of all the beautiful things. Maybe this will fill these unforgiving minutes. What about the stone blue mountain streams? Or the boiling heat on a summer night in the city? Those beautiful warm winds of spring with the music of birds in the air? It will no longer be enjoyed.

The sink drops another blob of water to journey through a maze of pipes. The biting wind flows through the shattered glass onto me. The moon rises to gloom. I long so much to reach for the blanket. But without the cold, my mind WILL surrender.

What's it matter? The world around me has already given in. I'll just sit with the blanket awhile. My fingers are becoming numb around this pen. I could just be safe, warm. But, for what price, could I give up all freedom?

My shivers have stopped. I was so very afraid, but now I am just filled with despair. I could stop it, if I chose to. What if I am the last? The only holdout. How could I even help?

Maybe I could tell others of that beautiful spring wind. Or how it felt to be human. I could never destroy the song, but once I found others, and when they are strong enough to resist, I could free us all, one by one.

No. Much too hard. No warm spring wind could bring them out.

I ache, everywhere. I feel a butterfly float past. My muscles are soothed. I can even hear the ocean. I feel so at ease. The waves lap the sunny shore. I close my eyes to enjoy it.

The waves ebb and flow. A certain harmony and melody arises. It's soothing, almost calming. My spirit relaxes. As the waves disappear, a definite melody begins. It is one I know all too well, but finally I am at rest.

Oh beautiful, for spacious skies . . . .