Music and Madness

The music of earth is so diverse, people find music out of throwaway objects, they are inspired by everyday sounds, emotions, and people. Belting out a song of unrequited love is not unusual and the arrival of karaoke allowed ordinary humans to get up on stage with a microphone, sing off key and still get applause.
Conversely in Dromdrevc we did not applaud, if the Charters liked something you did, you stayed. I had no proof for years but I understood inherently that if I displeased the Charters with my art I would be disappeared. Amongst the slaves, because there was no bonding allowed we never knew who would be sitting with us to eat, we barely knew their names and at meal times not only mind speak but mouth speak was banned and dishes were served in silence. There was music in Dromdrevc, whilst we worked a beat was rhythmically sounded on drum, when it ended work ended. I often pondered on the slave who created the beat, were they capable of so much more, like the rest of us. Zilpanda, had music in her soul, she had an ethereal quality as if she was somewhere else. We mind spoke once in the outer shell of the politabubs chamber. She was a slave-sculptor and created statues of the Charters in shiny iridescent forms that moved in the winds of the corridors of power. These creations were beautiful but a sadness radiated from them as if a part of Zilpanda'ssoul leaked into them. She was pale, always pale, her hair was jet-black with three blue stripes running horizontal, it was her hair that first caught my eye and for months I waited for an opportunity to speak to her. Back home there was a boy with hair like Zilpanda's, a tall strapping youth who worked with the natural rock in the area creating furniture. His name, lost to me now, was often spoken, our people thought him mad. He sang to his rocks, a love song, a song so clear, so personal it was almost embarrassing to hear. I wanted to speak to Zilpanda, to see if she was a relafem of his, to chat about my homeplace. I wasn't often pining for home, I quickly realised that my family had dumped me, sold me like a shekwal of Iffoldo cheese, bound up and forgotten, but on seeing Zilpanda I started to dream of stanzas of my life before I was enslaved.
When wanting something so much, of course it stays just out of reach but eventually it happened that we were on the same corridor in one of the places that the dreaded shockwave could not dig through. The other thing about wanting something so badly is it invariably lets you down, and I was very let down by my convwesation with Zilpanda. she was mad, she sang to me of her madness, her undying love for rock. I knew of course that she was a relafem of the boy from my homeplace, they all must be different shades of madness, I also knew somehow she was slowly dying and then I began to hope, to hope that in her madness and her dying she make a dramatic exit, not just disappear. I refused to want it, but each night I proclaimed to myself that tomorrow would be the day that Zilpanda made her grand mad exit.