Fire crackles, wood crunches.
“I did not want to do it.”
Tombstone sits cutting a lonely figure beside the inferno.
“The sound of pain is not one I cherish.”
“It is not music to my ears.”
“As I sit before the cremation furnace, the echoes of your screams dance around my mind like a song I cannot forget. The lyrics of which are torturous moans, gasps and cries that will forever haunt my entire being.”
“The flame that flickers dances like a melody, acting as a backing track to the terror it creates.”
“It crackles, pops and hisses, devouring everything in its path. It is unrelenting, powerful, and continuous. Even now, as there is nothing left for it to destroy, it plays its terrifying tune.”
“It lets the sound of the horrifying screams inside my head, fill in the blanks.”
“What kind of music is this?”
Tombstone stands, shutting off the machine.
“Music is everywhere, isn’t it?”
“It is in the laughter of children accompanied by the tune of their adventures.”
“It is in the feeling of love and romance, dancing to the beat of one’s heart.”
“It is in the death of a man who did not choose his predicament, yet suffered in agony whilst it was thrust upon him.”
“This is one song I wish I did not hear, El Mariachi Muerte.”
“This is one time that I wished, selfishly, that the music had truly died.”
“You’ve become lost in what you believe music is, so much so that you’re unable to hear it when it surrounds you. You put stock in what you can or cannot play. You fear that music is dead, yet you cannot hear the noise of Arcadia. You cannot hear the music, for the fear.”
“There is music in the crowd that adore you.”
“There is a tune when a referee slams his hands down on the canvas in preparation for your victory.”
“There are lyrics to life written on every wall, every level, every face of every person inside Arcadia.”
“The sound of music is well and truly alive, if you, El Mariachi Muerte, would only listen.”
“I heard a song today that will repeat inside my head like I’ve listened to it a thousand times. I’ll hear other songs, other tunes, but nothing will replace the sound. Nothing will erase it from my memory.”
“Because if all else fails, Mariachi, Dr. Death cannot take what resides inside your mind.”
Tombstone taps his head.
“I but wish he could take what resides in mine.”
“For you, a lack of music is the end.”
“But a lack of music is simply down to what one chooses to hear.”
“I can’t ferry music to its final destination.”
“But when the end comes, I can ferry you.”
“So, you should never fear the end, El Mariachi Muerte.”
“Because the end is where we meet.”
“And I will send you on your way.”