When children are born, they have a metal bracelet on your wrist. This bracelet is not to be removed or covered by any civilians. On it, sketched into the surface, is a rhythm. On average, a name will be about one to three measures. This rhythm is h...
"He- Here he is," the nurse stuttered in confusion.
His mother took him and looked at his eyes. Bright, wild, brilliant, grey tinted blue. His face was full and happy.
The nurse smiled slightly. She noticed his bracelet for the second time since his birth, and her smile dropped.
The mother pondered, child in hand. "What is it?"
"Why nothing. Wha- What does his bracelet say?" the nurse asked.
The mother flinched. "I promised not to look at it until my husband arrived. He is on his way with some ice chips."
The nurse walked over to the boy and applied the standard sleeve for such cases. "I am authorized. No worries."
A sharp 'wosh' noise comes from the door, and a father enters the room with ice chips in his hand.
"Here you are, Jennie beautiful," the man said something in relation to her measure before a quick, half-assed bow. "So are you ready to look?"
The two were exhausted. They had stayed up so long waiting for a moment to look at their son's rhythm.
"Uh... Yeah. Let's look I guess."
The nurse nervously brought her shaky hands to the sleeve over the bracelet. She pulled and tugged in an unsteady movement until the sleeve slid over the child's chubby fingers.
"Th- This is it," she commented preparing for the parents confusion, concern, and possible anger.
The mother looked at the whole rest sketched on the surface of the single measure of the metal bracelet.
The mother and father looked down in confusion.
"Why does my son only have a quarter rest? Where are the rest of his notes?" the mother questioned in confusion and fear.
The nurse was shaking slightly. "I don't know. Please, let me get a doctor. He can tell you."
She quickly shuffled out of the room.
"Reverse, what are we going to do? This just doesn't make any sense. What will we call him?"
"I don't know darling. Let's just wait for the doctor. He will have more news." ~}|{~
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Silence. They called him silence. This was his name, and there was no way to change it until he found his lyrics.
His metal bracelet tinged and clinked of nothing. Everyone is born with a rhythm. They are recognized by this rhythm their whole life
At thirteen, children receive their first pitch. Each piece has about one to three measures on average. Once you turn eighteen, you will receive any remaining notes and pitches.
One day, you find it all. Your lyrics. Your calling. People often go buy one of their lyrics or a note that makes them different.
On contracts or on papers, there is a measure to write out you melody.
Only, this boy was called silence... because he simply had no sound.
