Silent Echoes

Interlude - Songs Of The Broken Man

He sat in relative darkness, nothing but him and his thoughts.

It was at times like these, over the soft glow of his monitor and the eerie hum of his ancient PC, that he really felt alone. Nothing awake with him but the hum and the glow, a pitiful existence truly. He checked his watch, quarter to five, in about an hour he'd have to escort his sister to school, the house would be empty yet again.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

He tapped at his keyboard, a million worlds lay glittering beyond the screen, each beckoning with promises. They weren't perfect, but they were reliable, infallible, they wouldn't fail him like the life beyond the screen.

He remembered of a day much like this, many years ago, when the gentle lulling of a storm's song turned the dark atmosphere of his den into a veritable magical kingdom. He was a king, and the internet his kingdom, he ruled the land with keyboard in hand and viewed all before him with a cynical eye.

And much like calling on the devil, a patter of hail and rain started to cascade down the lone window, a fresh breeze blew gently through the cracked window. It carried with it the smell of cut grass and freshly dug earth. The magic of a storm.

Outside, thunder could be heard, the brief crack sounded like a wonderful divine voice, calling from the sky to him. Calling for him. Promising him wonders. And he listened, laying back and listening to roar of wind pass by his window, listening to the breeze that seemed to make the walls of his room breath, the walls seemingly pulsating with life.

His reverie was ended by the abrupt shrill of an alarm, it signaled the beginning of his daily morning duty; Wake his sister up, wait for her to get up, walk her to the station, watch her get on the train, walk home.

This repetition reduced his will to live, this fake world with it's wonder and fake magic, it sickened him to his very core.

On early mornings like this, he liked to savour the rain as it fell, enjoying the faux magic. In the distance he heard thunder crash, discordant and chaotic, he smiled.
The walk home was pleasant enough, more enjoyable than usual, the air still but held a pregnant silence, it was balanced out by the pitter patter of raindrops on the sidewalk, it fell heavy that night, drenching him from head to toe.

Perhaps it was because of how soaked he had been that it happened, perhaps however it was just the wheels of fate spinning in an inordinate fashion. Either way, when he reconnected with his throne and his world's separated only by pixels, wishing for something beautiful to happen, the universe obliged.

Some would look at it and say that perhaps if it hadn't been so badly storming that morning, that perhaps if his window and been closed so as to not let rain water fall upon his computer, that maybe the bolt wouldn't have found him that day.

But it did anyway, snaking past the guttering and down the windowpanes and through his window. Faux or not, the magic found him, and it saw him sitting upon his ragged throne observing his glittering worlds, the dissonance of his soul rang out to the magic and in that second before the next, it split his soul from his body.

Most souls pass straight on to the next life, but the bolt had used his kingdom as a conduit, it hurled his still screaming soul across his kingdoms, his scream heard over every byte of data.

His body was alive, yes. But empty eyes gazed across the room and only the occasional twitch of his fingers brought movement to them. That's how they found him later, twitching but alive, awake but unresponsive, coma they said.

His body lay in a hospital bed, and his soul screamed in cyberspace.

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