The day the music died

"The human era has to progress," said The President of the international suits board on the ceremony, "We do not need primitive stimulations as we used to. Music’s place belongs to the last millennium

The television announcer announced her death in a bleak voice. After accompanying the human race throughout its existence, the international suits board had decided that it was time for euthanasia.

The Weather was properly dressed for the wake, and dark gray clouds covered the sky while a wild wind struck all presents.

I couldn’t believe this was the end.

Of course there were rumors about the poor condition of music, after reggae ton and sounds of construction sites began to take on music charts, together with the release of official data on the slow throes of the guitar and the piano. But I l thought that music will successfully overcome current shallowness, songs with meaning will hatch from innovative speakers. I thought that at least one righteous man in Sodom will let Beatles play.

"The human era has to progress," said The President of the international suits board on the ceremony, "We do not need primitive stimulations as we used to. Music’s place belongs to the last millennium, meaningless songs that caused the humanity to behave like animals in cages they called a club, but our generation wont rest under the corrupting influence of music, we will continue diligently toward the noble cause, a real utopia".

"But why does the music disturbs that, Mr. President?” I innocently asked. Suddenly I was aware to the fact that everyone turned their grimy looks at me, probably thinking, how a young journalist allow himself to ask the President a rude question like this, especially as journalism was dying slowly, following music steps.

"Music gave all people freedom to express themselves," he explained, "Even those who are trying to destroy, destroy and destroy the culture that we are trying to shape for hundreds of decades. Underground messages and sounds of hell have become music, pure minded children who did not knew the difference between right and evil were drown into destructive ecstasy and shallow leisure culture, that almost caused the collapse of humanity. Never again. The purpose of music has changed from enjoyment to the ear to undermining the recesses of the brain. We do this to protect humanity, and together we can reach the noble cause, real utopia".

"What about the quiet music, exciting melodies, sweeping songs, what about immortal songs," I asked, drawing confidence God knows from where.

The President looked at me in astonishment. Struck by the fact that I interrupt his speech for the second time, but because humanity was watching him now, he smiled at me and especially at the official cameras, a fake smile custom made for him, from a skyscraper factory in China.

"The decision effects all music," said the main suit, using a confident voice full with charisma, "There will be no separation between types of music. We have overwhelming evidence from research conducted by my friends from "Oxford" indicating on a direct connection between music and wars, diseases and drug abuse. I’ll give you and the entire world a popular example, The Beatles the well known band who swept the world with their ridicules music and had encouraged children to idolatry, rebellion and worst of all drugs. For example the immortal song, "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds”, this song made dictionaries teenagers use drugs because it’s initials, LCD. This supposedly meaningless song became the nightmare of every parent and parent. So there is no difference between types of music, for all humanity today music is died, so together we can walk towards the noble cause ", and this time the entire crowd interrupted him and yelled happily,"real utopia".

Thunderous applause accompanied the end of his words. Music died and they are cheering the murder on the memorial service.

From the roar of the crowd I noticed an old man who worked his way close to the stage. His face was remarkably creased from the rigors of time, and his beard was probably never shaved. On his back he carefully carried a large black bag, which he maneuvered through the excited crowd.

Suddenly he broke into the center of the stage, pulling out a brown acoustic guitar, brilliant and beautiful, and stood right in front of Mr. Master Suit. The bodyguards saw him at once, one of them shouted in a panic voice, "he has a guitar", and immediately a tremendous volley of shots was fired at the offending singer, but not before he had a chance to play one last chord, D minor. His full old eyes opened wide, his hands embraced the guitar as if trying to protect it from the hail of bullets, trying to save the guitar’s life.

The President was quickly taken to a safe place, a place where not even the slightest sound of corrupted music will play.

Just me and a little girl in a flowered dress remained in the place. The girl stood frozen above the brave man’s spirit that had been taken from him.

"What's wrong, honey?", I asked her in apparent sadness.

"It was my father," she said it in such simplicity that it knocked me off my feet, no tears, no sadness, almost without emotion at all.

"I'm sorry," I said as I hugged her hard, trying to comfort her, me, the both of us.

"It's okay," she said with a charming smile, melting my heart, "He saved music."

"He did what?" I asked.

"He saved music," she repeated in a childlike but convincing voice.

"Exactly how did he do it?"

"He played," she said, a bright light illuminated her face, "he played."

The little girl in the flowered dress smiled at me, as she pulled out of her glamorous harmonica. "Music is alive", she screamed into the air, “music is alive ", and began playing the harmonica produces mesmerizing sounds.

A few seconds later, a volley of shots was added to the sound, and her voice had been silenced forever. As well as her father, she died holding the harmonica with all her strength she could summon, making it a part of her, a part of her life, and a part of her death.

A torrent full of anger began to fall on the warm tomb, "perhaps God is sad day," I thought. After all, so many songs were written for him, for him and for his actions, and now they all will disappear from the memory of future generations.

Apparently, God wept the day the music died.