The cacophony of trumpets, strings, and eerie screams drowns out her sonorous alto. Erratic echoes are bouncing off the crustaceous limestone arches, crashing into each other as they release discordant visions of stone-faced soldiers of faith.

Turn my monitor up, please, Padraig, I can’t hear myself.

Can’t hear myself. Can’t hear myself. The haunting of whispered repeats floats around the cotton-clad arm Padraig has raised up high at the far end of the nave to signal that he has heard her.

She can see his eager face blushing while he adjusts the controls. Mid distance between her sanctuary and her juvenile saviour a member of the audience coughs.

Her voice now alien to her rises up high. She shrieks at the bloodied mass of the saintly face.


(c) Ash N. Finn, 2017

7 thoughts on “Sanctuary

    1. Haha, I guessed that bombarded was what you had meant. Thanks for reading on that speeding train! And yes, as Jac was saying in one of her comments about a piece she wrote a little while back. Nightmares, gotta use them or lose them…

  1. Sounds like a day in the electronic music studio. Or a gig where the vocalpro gains a mind of its own. I can see the headphones, the echo, the dismay and shock as a note goes spiraling into where only dogs can hear.

    And then again, the whole nightmare thing works, too. But trust me. I hear that stuff every day. Not high, Not asleep.

    Plus, just being silly in a big old church, you get some great effects.

    1. You’re onto something there, Phil, my recent visit to St Patrick’s Cathedral to see Maria McKee, or hear her rather may have played a part in triggering this. That concert was a thoroughly delightful experience though, and she was in top form :-). I do remember though how treacherous the acoustics can be in churches when you’re playing there, and how they change between rehearsals when the nave is empty and once it’s full of people.

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