storymilo

It's all too much. I just can't stand it. My mind feels like it's going to implode. If I hear one more twang of a banjo, one more southern accent crooning about god, I'm going to kill myself.

I'm running away. The crowded city blocks are empty, people most likely shut in their own homes, to escape the noise. It's horrible. Who listens to this shit? I'm lucky not to know anyone.

The country music seems to be following me. It won't leave me alone. I see an alley, and graffitied on the wall is the word "Hell."* A fitting place for the music to rest. I head into the alley and notice an open sewer grate. There's a ladder going down. I take it.

I'm climbing down. The music has halted at the surface; this is good. But it is getting hot, oh so hot. I'm sweating, and I feel like I might slip off the ladder any second. I notice, the walls are turning red. Strange drawings are appearing. They're moving. Suddenly, they're not walls at all. They are fire, and they are engulfing me.

Demons are flying around me, and they are carrying instruments. One has a banjo.. oh god! The music they are playing is 10 times, no, 100 times more awful than anything I heard on the surface. Was this to be my eternal torment? Was I to forever listen to the music that I hated with a passion, that I discounted as nothing but twanging and lyrics about god?

God. That was it. That was what I needed. I prayed, and I prayed, as much as my brain could before rationalizing, and suddenly I saw a light. But no, it was not the searing hot light of the flames. It was a warm light, a white light. Something was descending from above.

I looked up, and my eyes were met with the sight of a great white hand floating gently down. It reached me, and I instantly felt cool and calm. Suddenly it picked me up, and swiftly flew upwards. It was what I would imagine flying to be like. Flying on a cloud.

The hand moved fast, and we reached the surface within a minute. But my eyes were not met with the cold urban metropolis. Instead, a lush green meadow greeted me, abundant with trees, fruit, and birds tweeting in the sky. I gazed around me in wonder, when suddenly my ears were met with something wondrous.

It was music, but music I'd never heard the likes of. It had all the qualities of things I hated; the country vibe, the southern accent. And yet... this sounded good! I searched for the source of the wondrous discovery, and I saw peeking over a hill a man sitting on a stool holding a guitar.

I made my way over there, and the crown watching smiled at me and the man smiled too, but he didn't stop playing. I saw from the sign above his head that he was name Johnny Cash, and I listened to this man named Johnny Cash for a long while, and stared at his black outfit, which seemed so out of place in this beautiful utopia, and then I heard more sounds coming from over another hill.

However much I liked this Mr. Cash, these sounds intrigued me as well. I took a short jog over the hill, and there I was met with the sight of a woman playing violin and a band proclaimed by the banner above the stage as Union Station backing her. They were playing fast, and the music was very country, but I liked it, just like I had Johnny Cash. The song finished, and the woman smiled at me. "My name is Alison Krauss" she announced in a distinct southern accent, and then she started to sing and it was wonderful.

But what was to come next? This dreamy land had opened my mind already, and I was excited to find more. But I could hear no more music besides Alison & Union Station, no matter how hard I strained my ears. I wanted to find more, but I couldn't.

Then a strange animal came galloping up to me. It was white, but not albino. It was white in the same way the hand had been, giving off a warm sheen. I looked closely, and I could see it was a milky colored bulldog. It barked once, and then started at a slow trot away. I made the decision to follow it; it couldn't be leading me somewhere bad, as I was sure there was nowhere bad in this place.

After about twenty minutes of following, we came to a forest. The dog headed straight inside, and I was not reluctant to tag along. The trees were immensely tall inside the forest, and so it took me a second to realize what they were bearing as leaves.

Burritos were growing on the trees. And, not only that, they were flying. Everywhere around me burritos drifted along, as without a care in the world. Some glided, and some swooped, but they all were magnificent.

The dog had now led me about 5 minutes into the forest, and this was when I started to hear sounds. It was a man singing this time, like the first performance I had come to, but there appeared to be a full backing band, like the second. I noticed the burritos were all moving towards one place: the place where the dog was leading me.

Suddenly the trees in front of us cleared, and in the middle of the clearing was 5 rows of people watching a band addressed as the Flying Burrito Brothers. This band stopped immediately as they saw me. "I see another one has made it," the man standing at the mic said. "I'm happy to meet you. My name is Gram Parsons."

Then they continued playing. It was unlike anything I'd ever considered to be country before this trip. There was talent, and care, and the lyrics were bearable. I couldn't tell if I was just going crazy or if it was truly a revelation.

After about an hour of bliss, they announced that the next song was going to be their last. I almost cried, for I knew this would be my last experience in this place of heaven. But did it have to be? I had ways of acquiring music at home. I could continue this journey. There were ways of sifting out the good from the bad; it just took patience, was all. I could do this.

My eyes opened as the last song, a spoken story of a boy, ended, and I felt the warm light again. The clearing was empty except for the performers, who were packing up their instruments. The feeling grew stronger, and suddenly the flying sensation from earlier arose. The hand had returned, and was carrying me swiftly from the forest. I gazed back at the utopian paradise in awe as the sun set and I was carried back home. Had I discovered something? I think so. And I think I will remember it for a long, long time.


* Seriously, I think people who discount an entire genre (whether it be country, hip-hop, whatever) should go to hell. And I used to be like this