That’s the music I’ve heard in my head ever since the accident.
It was late at night and I was sneaking in my house past curfew, like a normal 16-year-old would. I had it all planned out in my head; I was going to bolt upstairs and jump into bed so I didn’t get caught. As I was tiptoeing to go to bed, a large shadow frightened me. At first I didn’t know who it was but I could tell by the bulky outline of the shadow; it was my dad. He slowly crept around the corner. I stopped, frozen in my tracks, had a mini-heart-attack then sprinted the other way hoping that he didn’t see me; but, I know he did, and that I was in BIG trouble.
“Who’s there?” my dad furiously asked.
Does he not know who I am? I had hopes that maybe he was sleepwalking, but sadly that wasn’t the case.
“I can see you!” he squealed.
Now I definitely thought he was crazy. My eyes adjusted to the dark and I saw an outline of his shadow. I was really confused when I gazed upon what was in his hand. What would he be doing with a frying pan? At the time I didn’t understand; I was frightened to find out what would happen. Then suddenly, I was struck with it, right on the parietal section of my skull. I crumbled to the ground feeling as if I had been betrayed, hit by my own father.
The next morning, I woke up to really loud, annoying music. I slowly forced my eyes open to see that I was in my room; I wished I hadn’t, but I remembered what had happened the night before. I was curious about how I got the music in my head.
“Mom, Dad turn down the music!” I said as I moped down the stairs.
“Honey, we aren’t playing any,” answered mom.
“Dad, why did you hit me with a frying pan?” I asked. Once again I was confused.
“Sorry. I thought you were an intruder. Are you okay?” confessed Dad.
“Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” I didn’t tell him the truth. There was no point in bothering him with some stupid music I was hearing; he has enough to worry about already. I figured I’d just try and ignore it.
After about two weeks of the music playing non-stop in my head, I decided to try to do something about it. I tried not thinking about it, and many other stupid ideas that I thought might work.
I jumped on the computer and did some research. I read about some rare cases where people got hit really hard on their parietal bone. It can cause strange music to play in your head for the rest of your life.
Still to this day, which is three months after the accident, I still can’t think of anything to do about it. I’m so sick of hearing this music. Honestly, I would rather die than keep hearing this stupid music. I won’t live my life anymore with a constant headache. I know what I have to do. So, I spend hours thinking and contemplating ideas; and decide to try and do the last thing I will ever think of trying.
I jump to my feet, go over to the concrete wall and carefully place my hands on it. I take a deep breath, and start banging my head on the wall, vigorously, over and over again, with as much force as possible. Even when the pain is too much, I keep on going.
BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG.
When the blood starts shooting out of my ears and onto the grey walls, I still don’t stop. Even when the pain echoes through my head and makes every part of my body agonize in pain, I don’t stop.
BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG.
I know I will soon pass out.
BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG. BANG, BANG, BANG.
I’m laying here helplessly on the floor.
As everything goes black, I hope to never awaken, so I don’t have to hear that dreadful music ever again.
LA, DI, DA, LA, DI, DA.
I know I never will; I lay here, blood dripping onto my long blond hair and listen to the last thing I will ever hear: My music.
La, di, da, la, di, da, la…