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The Climb

Her music was beautiful, La Mariachi Alegría. She was one of those Mariachi that could transport you through a journey of song. In hearing her play, I found that music was much like climbing a ladder, mi amigos. Rung by rung, note by note, her song was played.

Like any journey of ascension, our song begins with a first chord. The first rung of the ladder sets the tone, allows one to feel the joy of the cadence of the music.

We find ourselves poised and ready to take hold, the music willing us on to take hold of the rung and climb. 

Reach for a second rung and the melody takes hold. One hand is placed above the other and the struggle commences.

Such is the journey of life, pulling ever upwards towards inevitability. And the climb is anything but easy, so you cling more tightly to the ladder.

We have no choice now but to climb, for the music demands us to. We pull ourselves into the rhythm of the chorus. The repetition pulling us into a new sense of Alegria’s joy. As we ascend, the music plays on.

If we climb for long enough, we feel the rungs thin. The emotion changes as fear of falling grips us. The bridge of our song opens up, drawing us ever nearer to the climax that awaits us. Inevitably, we can feel the end of the song drawing closer, if we can only continue to climb the ladder and finish our journey.

But her song never was finished. It was cut short before she could pass her sweet melody on by one sworn to save her, relishing in the devastation caused by her demise. Without passing on her music, the song remains unfinished. The chords hang in the air unresolved.

And an unfinished song like hers can never be played.

As I look down from on high, I see that the ladder is crumbling, for La Musica is broken.

At Titanfall, they will come. They will play their songs in a cacophony of notes and rhythm, each scrambling to climb their own crumbling ladders. Each with their own melody to be played.

An officer with a song of redemption. A preacher with his ballad of pain. A loan shark with his melody of debt. The immortal one with his never-ending funeral dirge. And the one who broke the ladder, he who stopped the music playing.

They will each allow the music to call them to ascend. They will climb that crumbling ladder, and each watch in in horror as their songs fade to nothingness around them. For each may begin the climb, but like her, their ascent will be cut short.

“No one knows where the ladder goes
You’re gonna lose what you love the most
You’re not alone in anything
You’re not unique in dying”

I hear the songs unplayed and lost by Arcadia. I will teach Arcadia to hear the music once more. Note by note, song by song, it is my symphony that Arcadia will hear.

Let the music play.

El Mariachi Muerte