The Sounds of Childhood

crrrk...
crrrk...
crrrk...

whrrrr...

Raindrops keep falling on my head.

A warm blanket on a cold winter's day, tucked snugly into bed || the central heating unit broke a week ago and the repair man still hadn't shown up.

Raindrops keep falling on my head.

Mother handing me a mug of hot lemon with a spoonful of honey || the stores had honey in stock this month, though not enough to fully replace the sugar rations.

Raindrops keep falling on my head.

Staring out the window, watching raindrops race each other down the glass || the radio announcer said the shortages & outages are temporary, that they'll be over by next month; the same message as every month before.

I stand, knuckles white around the box as the wind bites, the drizzle becoming a trickle becoming a torrent; tiny gears whirring, the brass wheel turning over, rough-edged teeth plucking their cyclical tune on the harpsichord; droplets clinging to the scuffed glass shielding the mechanical musician from the growing storm; the chimes growing slower, the tune more distorted, the sounds of childhood comfort fading...

fading...

fading...

whrrr... click.

and in the end,
all that remains are raindrops,
falling on my head.