Melodies of Fear

By Amoeba

Although I could no longer hear the melodies of fear in the incessant pleading, I knew they were there. The pain etched in his half-submerged eyes told of desperate cries—silent pleas.

My father, who worked disposal duty in the city’s abattoirs, had once said to me, “Spend so long in a place that smells so unimaginably foul, and you don’t even notice it.”

It appeared that the same was true of sound.

I watched his pained face rise and then fall beneath the black water with amused satisfaction, checking once more that the ropes that bound him were tight enough.