What is our life but a succession of preludes to that unknown song whose first solemn note is sounded by death?
- Franz Liszt
Her song was playing, as she slowly realized it would be the last time she would ever hear it. Her whole life came into focus on a number of lines of music. As the end neared, she could only think "Why? ... How could it all be
so simple?"
Two shots to the head and the memories fade; the awareness now worthless and tiring fast. The single song that was the gestalt of life for her, has become a simple ending, never to be known again.
Unless she defies it all. Unless she sings the song so loud and tirelessly to anyone who will listen. In doing this, the song can no longer be simply a closing, but an opening. A passage.
The melodies will sound clearly in the minds of generations. The rhythms will move even celestial bodies. This resonance will carry not only her remembrance, but the remembrance of truth.