Matchstick Symphony

What does a matchstick sound like when it's blown out? Go on, try it. How much of an interference does it cause to the rest of the sounds around you, in your room, at anna's or wherever else you may be? Do you remember the sound, say, 15 or 20 minutes after the matchstick's been blown out? And if you do, can you reproduce the sound in your head for more than a day after you hear it? And then, can you describe the sound to someone else at that point?

Before I am mauled and run over by a tirade of "no way!!"s and cries of "you sold out!!", I hasten to add that this isn't a bleeding heart ode to all things touchy-feely or anything of the sort. I'm still all man, baby!!! So put away your brickbats, cease the name-calling and stop burning those damn effigies. Alright?

Over time, I have permitted my writing travel only down certain tried and tested avenues, aloof to, perhaps afraid of peeking down different alleys or trying alternate routes. The fear of the unknown, possibly? Who's to say? Who's to know? So, without further ado, let's get on with it.

Anyway, the point of this symphony is more to do with the symphony of life (mention The Verve and get a slap in the mouth; I do actually like them, so I don't know what the slap would achieve, oh well). So, yes, the symphony of life comprises a mélange of sounds, from the time you come screaming into this world to the time you leave it, amid the hushed and buffered sound of sniffs and sobs (or loud guffaws and cheers, if you happen to have lived the life of an A-hole).

Along the way, there is the tittering of little girls as they make fun of a small boy who is apparently infested with cooties. Meanwhile, somewhere else on the planet, a dog howls into the night, lonely, aroused or just plain confused. Leaves rustle, the wind whistles, chisels ..ermm... chisel and my jokes continue to fizzle amid a sea of groans.

These sounds and trillions others come together to make up the symphony of life. But, and here I revert to my original point, what of the sound of the matchstick being extinguished? An inconsequential matchstick that's worn out its welcome and needs only to be discarded. After all, of what use is a matchstick once it's gone out? But I keep coming back to its sound. It is still a member of the symphony right? It is as much a part of the symphony as the sound of a young street child being cracked in the side by an oncoming vehicle, crushing part of his pelvis and sending him hurtling across the road, crashing into the tarmac with a sickening thud as his head is busted wide open.

Does he curse out loud?

Does he whimper softly?

Is he capable of emitting sound?

And what after his mangled corpse is scraped off the road and moved out of eye-shot and the large rivers and little tributaries of crimson blood streaming from where his carcass lay and into the gutter are washed away by jets of water? What then? Does anyone remember the sound of that matchstick as it was extinguished? Could anyone really be expected to?

Can I expect to remember it?