She sleeps. A pale girl in a white room. Machines surround her. Mechanical guardians, they tether the sleeping girl to the land of the living, stopping her from drifting away on an eternal, dark tide.
Their steady beeps and the laboured sound of her breathing are the sleeping girl’s only lullabies. Before, she loved music. Loved to sing. Loved to play. She found music in everything – the birds, the trees, the sea.
A small piano has been placed in one corner of the room. The cover is up but the keys are coated in a fine layer of dust. On top of the piano sits an ivory shell. Its silky pink insides look like the delicate curves of an ear.
The machines beep and whirr.
The shell trembles.
A sharp ‘C’ suddenly fills the room.
Somewhere, another girl falls.