The Dying Fall

Chapter 28: The Dying Fall

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Song for this chapter:

Chapter 28: The Dying Fall

Carrie sat on the hard, narrow bed in the blueish glow of the security lights that lit the corridor outside the bars of her cell. A guard had come to wake her nearly an hour ago, although she had already been awake, unable to sleep even if she’d wanted to. Sleep was a waste of the little time she had left. As was regret. There was no point in listing every mistake she’d ever made, questioning every choice, revising every missed opportunity or wrong road taken. Instead, she searched back through her memories to the moments that she wouldn’t have traded even to buy herself a single extra minute: childhood games with Savannah, making soup with her father, dancing with Meg, her first experience of the undersound; falling in love with Vannah in Nano’s basement—her hands holding his, his heart beating with hers. Each experience crept through her body, from head to toe, running along her nervous system as each feeling—the joy, the pain, the ecstasy, the loss—came flooding back.

But now, in these final minutes before they came to collect her, Carrie focused only on hearing her mother’s voice. Her memory searched for the familiar sound, the little quirks of manner, idiosyncrasies of expression, subtle inflections of emotion, the nuances in tone when her mother was angry, sad, gentle, or all three at once—all the small details that made up the lilt of the most consistent voice in her life. The lullaby her mother had sung over her and Savannah found its way to Carrie’s lips and she sang it softly, under her breath like a spell, until a heavy tread clanged along the corridor.

The guard tapped her baton on the bars of the cell three times before she opened the door. “Time to go,” she said.

Carrie rose to her feet, smoothed her grey-green uniform and walked to the door. The guard cuffed Carrie’s hands behind her back and then marched her down the corridor, through a set of double doors and across an empty hall to another pair of doors. Here, two more guards were waiting. One of them tied a blindfold over Carrie’s eyes and then she was led by a hand on her elbow through the doors. From the echoes her steps created around her, Carrie guessed she was being escorted down yet another corridor.

After several yards, she was stopped, the hand left her, and she heard the guard’s footsteps retreat a little way down the hallway behind her. Carrie’s heart was beating harder than it ever had before, as if declaring its existence loud enough might change what was coming. As she waited, her lips moved silently but fervently:

If music be life, give me excess of it…

After a few minutes, Carrie realised she could hear breathing in front of her—the quick, shallow breaths of someone whose heart was beating as desperately as her own. And then more footsteps sounded along the corridor as another prisoner was marched to stand behind her. Another prisoner followed after that and Carrie wondered how many there were standing in front of her and whether they all found themselves here for the same reason.

Carrie heard a set of footsteps begin walking up the corridor ahead of her and then the sound cycled towards her in a repeated pattern until a hand rested firmly on her shoulder and pushed her forward. Carrie moved with heavy legs until the reverberations of the corridor were left behind and her boots crunched over a gravelly surface. A crisp ruffle of wind swept around her as she was led across what she guessed to be the prison courtyard. The guard halted her at a particular spot and warned her not to move before he left her standing alone and disorientated.

Carrie tried to find something to anchor her remaining senses as she stood fixed to the spot, feeling as precariously exposed as if she were standing on the edge of a cliff. After several, thudding heartbeats, she picked out, above her own strained breathing, the early morning song of a single bird and then sounds of activity directly ahead of her. Feet were moving over the gravel, shuffling into place, stopping, shifting, bracing for orders.

A trickle of cold panic released in Carrie’s chest and she found herself responding to a sudden urge. “Nano?” she whispered tentatively. And then, when there was no response, a little louder, her voice sounding hoarse: “Nano?”

There was a pause. The bird sang and it’s tune was joined by another clear trill. And then, whispered back, just to her left, came “Carrie?”.

Carrie’s heart leapt with a conflict of emotions and she shuffled to her left. Her movement seemed to go unchecked until her arm touched another arm and a voice suddenly barked across the courtyard: “Oi! Get back—”

The order was cut off abruptly and Carrie heard muttering on the breeze, but no one came to march her back to her designated spot.

“Carrie?” Nano asked again.

Carrie could hear the same mix of fear and relief in his voice as was in hers. “I’m here,” she replied softly.

Reaching her hands as far as the cuffs would allow, she touched her fingers to Nano’s. His fingers curled against hers in response and Carrie felt her panic dissipate. Her heart stilled and her senses sharpened to the cold breeze that numbed her cheeks and the pure song that trilled on it—a simple serenade to the dawn. As the rifles cocked and the ready signal sounded, Carrie’s ear caught the unexpected lilting change in the birdsong, a moment of melody that cut her straight to her core with a sweet, sweet agony.

If music be the food of life, give me excess of it,

Until I—

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THE END

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Author’s Notes:

I just want to say a big THANK YOU to everyone who has been reading The Dying Fall. I hope you enjoyed it and do feel free to let me know your thoughts.

I’m a little sad this journey is over—I always feel sad when I finish writing a story, and I’m sad again now that I’ve finished publishing it.

This entire novel is free to read, so if you know anyone who you think might enjoy a music-centred dystopian spec-fic, please do share the index page with them (linked above).

I hope you’ve enjoyed some of the music I’ve shared with each chapter. This entire story was born out of my own obsession with music… under the same circumstances I would be a helpless addict, like Carrie and Nano. If you want to listen to it again, the entire playlist is available here: The Dying Fall Playlist

I highly recommend at least listening to Arrival of the Birds and then putting it on repeat for the rest of the day. In the words of Shakespeare: ‘That strain again! it had a dying fall’.

Lastly, I’m still working on my speculative romance The Hanahaki Club, which I intend to move to a weekly publishing schedule, now that The Dying Fall is done. If you haven’t checked it out yet, come and join five losers in love on their journey of heartbreak and healing. I’ll link the index page below for you.

Once again, many thanks for sticking out 28 weeks to read Carrie and Nano’s story.

Take care,

PJ