The sound of rain on a tin roof

©J Hardy Carroll

Since they moved, they hadn’t been to their old neighbourhood. It had already been three years. They found themselves on their old street by chance, having taken a wrong turn.

It was still there, only seeming abandoned.

Their old studio. The one where they first met and became intimate. Where they shared their dreams and learnt about one another.

The one where they would crawl into each other’s arms to sleep on nights when their lullaby was the patter of rain on the tin roof.

Some sounds will always be associated to certain memories no matter how much time passes.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

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What life sounds like

What does a roar sound like?

They tell me that when a footballer scores, the crowd “roars”. I don’t know what that sounds like.

All I see is people jumping up and down in the stands, with their faces mutating from the strain of excitement. They seem to be living every moment as if their life depends on that single goal. And when something goes wrong, you can see the blood gushing to their face, painting it red with anger.

They all seem to be yelling something at every instance, but I don’t know what it is.

I don’t like watching football. Everyone tells me that I am missing out from all the fun if no screaming is involved. But it is not my fault.

It is even worse when I go to a concert. Well, actually, when they drag me there and I just stare at the stage at people jumping up and down in what appears to be a contest of who will wear less clothes.

But I can’t hear anything.

I was born like this. Deaf.

I don’t know what a singing bird sounds like. Or what my parents’ voices are like.

I have never heard the crack of a biscuit, or the ruffling of leaves. Neither the sound of pages turning, or the beating of a heart. Nor the noise a jumping car makes, or the swish of waves.

I don’t know what music is. Or what it means to yell at the top of your voice to release the tension.

I never experienced the thrill of a good shout.

And I will never know what it means to roar like a lion when you are mad. Or sob and squeak like an infant when you are sad.

I wish I could hear a voice. Even an angry one. Just hear something.

I am living in a silent world. And the only thing I can hear is the sound of my heart breaking from it.

That tip-tap in the roof

The other night I heard it again. A tip-tap in the roof. I had heard it before but it was about 1-2 months ago and although it did freak me out, I soon forgot about it. But now it seems its back. It sounds like something is tiptoeing in the roof. In the space between the tiles and the ceiling. I don’t know what it is. And I’m not sure if I want to find out either!

I do wonder what it is though. And it is at times like this when your imagination truly goes wild. Hey, as long as your dreams don’t get affected, turning into nightmares from which you wake up screaming in the middle of the night, covering up over the top with your bed sheets in the hope that nothing will actually come crashing through the ceiling on to you. Like those weird creatures from The Golden Compass, or something similar…

I wonder if it’s The Borrowers living up there…Ok maybe just one. But still, I haven’t noticed anything missing so I’m not sure…Perhaps they actually do borrow stuff and then bring it back before I even notice its absence? Could happen.

Maybe it’s a pigeon trapped. Shouldn’t we help it out? But would you really risk going up there and being surprised by what it is? I don’t think I have either the suitable clothes or the necessary psychological power to face that challenge…I still remember the scare I had when my beloved cat discovered something under the oven and we thought it was a dead mouse, until my mum swept out a raw meatball. How it got under there at that condition no one knows…

I still wonder what it is…Thing is, I’m sure my curiosity will be swiped away by everything else that I should do or actually should be doing for that matter. In fact, I think I should get back to work. As long as I don’t hear a patter on the roof, I think it’ll be fine. But, one last question: what could it be??

 

Also part of Daily Prompt: A Source of Anxiety