THE LAST SONG

A Short Story by Sherman B. Mason

“Are you really the one?” the guard asked. His voice was grittier than Melonie expected. Sounding full of dirt and dust. She contemplated not acknowledging him but saw no immediate victory in defiance. “Yes,” Melonie muttered softly, “It’s me.” The guard took a moment to look her over, not sure if he was more disgusted at her willingness to admit her crime or saddened that she had seemingly lost all hope. The Reset had taken everything. All electricity had been gone for years, but the humble roar of torch flames or candles was more evident that night. They seem to blend well with the musty basement Melonie was being held in. 

“Who taught you that? How to-,“

“My father,” Melonie interrupted.

“Where’s he?” The guard replied.

“Dead.”

“Your mother?”

Melonie shook her head. The guard knew better than to show pity but granted condolences with a rushed grunt. Melonie did not dare to look up. The gesture was understood. She weighed the option of saying something but refrained from pushing her brittle luck. Getting the one guard that spoke to prisoners was a miracle all by itself. The occasional outburst could be heard from the guards above. Melonie tried to make out what was being said, but it tended to fade before she could put it together. “What are they going to do to me?” she asked after another missed shout overhead. The guard remained silent, fidgeting with the crease of his gun barrel. He didn’t want to risk seeming interested in the prisoner in any way. After all, she probably didn’t have much time left.

Tears began to fill Melonie’s eyes while the moments of the night began to endlessly circle each other. The tickle became unbearable as they eventually lead their way down her pale face. She shook her head to rid herself of the emotion. She didn’t want to give them anything else. The light jingle of her heart-shaped locket caught the guard’s attention. He took a raggedy handkerchief from the breast pocket of his jacket and roughly wiped Melonie’s face. The clothed smelled of sweat and mildew. “Thank you,” Melonie said, feeling ashamed of how grateful she was to get rid of the sensation on her face. The guard walked back over to his metal folding chair. His sudden plunge let out a screech from the chair, causing Melonie to wince at the sound.

“You can end all this, you know,” The guard said. “Just tell them where you got it from.” The frustration in his voice turned contagious, but Melonie decided to attempt kindness. “It’s not my fault,” she replied in the kindest tone she could manufacture. The guard turned in her direction. His angry face became laced with confusion. “What do you mean? How could this possibly be anyone else’s fault?” he asked impatiently. Melonie sat up the best she could in her wooden seat. She quickly realized that was the most she had moved since being thrown into Confinement and tied down two days prior. She ignored her stiffness and addressed the guard. This time, with no regard for kindness.

“It isn’t right what they’ve done to us. Music is beautiful and moving and passionate. My father told me about the days when they would go to these buildings at night and dance for hours. That’s it. Just dance. You know why? Because music makes people happy. The Coronet has no right to take away our happiness! Our freedom to be happy!” Melonie’s words funneled into a choke. Heat rose from her collar, onto her neck, and into her face. She jerked her head away as the guard tried to wipe her tears once more. She looked up at him and their eyes met for the first time since her Confinement period. “Don’t you want to be happy again?” she asked.

The guard quickly turned his back on Melonie to hide the pain that would expose his answer. Memories of his family having to destroy their vinyl collection, DVDs, and CDs for The Coronet during the initial Absolution send a wave of sadness through him. Flashes of his mother’s face trying to explain what was happening filled his mind. They weren’t allowed to talk about it after. The guard hadn’t allowed himself to understand it. The longing for betterment in his mother’s eyes was all he needed to block everything out. But there, in the basement with Melonie, the guard tore his veil. 

The guard dropped his gun and fell to his hands and knees on the Confinement area floor. His bitter weeping grew more uncontrollable with each passing second. The heaving echoed against the walls, making it seem like the whole room was crying with him. Melonie peered down to the floor recalling her own memories of her father showing her chords on an old broken keyboard he found while in the mines. She remembered the joy she felt when her father softly hummed the notes he pretended to play. Thoughts of how happy her father was made her want to hear the sounds so badly. As a child, she thought about them until they drifted her to sleep and filled her dreams with the notes. 

Wiping his face, the guard recovered from the Confinement floor. His harmonious gaze made Melonie not even recognize the man she had encountered before. He stood up straighter than before. His eyes were now filled with something Melonie could not describe, but she knew it was better. “I want to be happy,” he said. The guard began to untie Melonie from the ropes that bound her to her chair. His breathing picked up and he got more anxious to release his prisoner. Melonie’s shock kept her silent. Fear and excitement and bewilderment filled her all at once. The ropes fell from her wrist, and she slowly brought her arms forward. Her shoulders cracked and popped at the release. Melonie rubbed the circulation back into her hands right as the abrasive knot fell from her ankles to the floor. 

A trapped moaning expelled from Melonie’s belly. She stood up to stretch her legs but quickly collapse back into the wooden chair that had been her home for days. “Careful,” the guard said, trying to help her. Melonie leaned her thin frame back into the chair. She grunted with each movement until she gained her composure. “How do we get out of here?” Melonie said through labored breaths. The guard hesitated to respond. He wiped his hands against his dingy pant leg and slowly paced around the small room. “Hey!” Melonie said as loudly as she could muster. The guard stilled. He looked at Melonie and then off into the shrunken distance. “We can’t,” he said in a hushed voice. He was too embarrassed to look back at Melonie, who remained silent. “There are guards right upstairs and even more outside. This place wasn’t meant to be escaped from.” The air seemed to heat up in the room. 

After a few moments, Melonie tried to get up again. The second time seemed to be more successful but still had its troubles. The guard rushed over to help but Melonie gently shooed him away. She took a deep breath and paused for a moment to get adjusted. “Ok then,” she said, “let’s be happy one more time.” Melonie reached her hand out toward the guard who still had no clue what she was doing. He squinted his eyes at her. A small but sure smile brushed his face as he saw Melonie grin at him. The guard stood stiff, not knowing how to react to Melonie’s words. She chuckled and walked over towards him, grabbing his hand, and bringing him closer to the light of the torch that protruded from its holder on the wall. 

Melonie raised the guard’s hand slightly, cupping it the best she could with the little strength she had left. She used her other hand to guide the guard to her hip and then finally on his shoulder. “When I was a little girl,” Melonie said, “my father told me that one day, a man would hold me like just like this. He was going to dance with me and when he did, he wanted me to close my eyes and hum a song he taught me.” Melonie closed her eyes and lightly placed her head on the guard’s chest. Her deep breath vibrated against him. The feeling soothed his eyes shut. 

Melonie began to slowly sway them back and forth. Then, she began to hum a song. A song the guard had never heard before. A song that took him somewhere he didn’t know existed. He brought Melonie closer to him. She sunk her head deeper into his chest. His heartbeat seemed to become the tempo of their secret song. Shuffling from above began to get closer to the door but neither of them let the other go. Grabbing Melonie’s hand a little tighter, the guard began to hum along with the melody. The sound was broken but sweet. The air in the room opened up as the door opened to the Confinement area. The song was like a lullaby that gave them the rest they have been seeking for so long. The click of the incoming guard’s guns cocking seemed as soft as spring rain. 

But that night, Melonie and the guard decided together that nothing could stop the sound of the last song.