|The Singers (standard:drama, 5905 words)|
|Author: burke||Added: Nov 11 2005||Views/Reads: 2036/1201||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|The inmates of heaven are tired of having nothing to do except to sing. They all want some changes made.|
Barclay Thompson SINGERS 10 pages, 3380 words "Peter, will you please do something about that singing!" Laying his pen aside Peter turned to his questioner. "Like what? A different melody maybe?" "No! I meant make it stop! It's driving me nuts!" "But professor, you encourage them to sing. I agree though. It certainly gets on one's nerves." The professor looked at the assembled singers, then turned to stare angrily at Peter, "I never encouraged them! And another thing: they're always here! They never go away! Make them go away!" Peter sighed, stretched as he stood up and consulted his computer. A moment later he pointed to a number on the screen. "Professor, there are uncountable billions of people out there. The singing is so loud I could never make myself heard above the noise to tell them to stop." Looking at the numbers himself, the professor nodded in agreement. Placing both hands over his ears he faced Peter and shouted. "Think of something because I'm getting a migraine from that damned noise! And another thing I don't understand is how this ever got started!" Then he wandered away over the singing crowd hoping that when they saw him covering his ears they might take the hint and SHUT UP! Taking a break from his work Peter checked his archives to refresh his memory as to the origins of this compulsion of all arrivals to sing nonstop. Finally, after going back to the first page in his old hand-written journals he found an entry dated many millennia earlier. Looking in wonder at his own ancient writing he finally made out the names of the first arrivals. "That's funny; I don't recall those two guys." Writing the names on the back of his wrist Peter set off to find the men. After a moment's thought he returned to his bench and dug out from under the table a bullhorn somebody had given him many years before. Switching it on, he gave it a try. "QUIET PLEASE!" It worked! Peter looked at the upturned faces staring at him in alarm. Some still had their mouths open. The silence was wonderful. Then he heard the birds. He'd totally forgotten about them. Somebody called out; "Can we start singing again?" It took Peter several seconds to identify the questioner. "Why? Don't you enjoy the peace and quiet?" The fellow looked uncomfortable. "Yes...I guess so. But we always sing, sir." "Why do you sing?" Nobody answered. Peter looked from face to face. He pointed to a woman. She was of medium height, attractive and about forty years of age. "Miss, why do you sing? Tell me, please?" She seemed embarrassed, having been selected from such a crowd of people. "That's what we do. Everybody was doing it when I got here, so I thought that's all there was to do." Peter pointed to a young man. He was of medium height handsome and about forty years of age. Which was not remarkable because everybody here fit that description. Age didn't matter: upon arrival everybody became fortysomething. Even babies, children and centenarians. Still pointing, Peter asked the man the same question. "Well sir, I sing because I want to." "I should know you!" Peter said. "What's your name?" The man smiled, "Caruso!" Click here to read the rest of this story (726 more lines)
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