Novel & Cerita Sound Fruit

I called out, a sense of urgency in my voice, as I instinctively moved in the direction of the sound. From the depths of the bathroom, Guila’s voice echoed back to me, breaking the stillness. “I’m in the shower,” she shouted, her words reaching me like an echo through the tiled walls. It was in that instance of realization that I connected the dots: the auditory sensation I had picked up was indeed the rhythmic symphony of water cascading onto the bathroom floor.

(by the famous company Philosophy), that smells so sweet it would scare off a sugar plum fairy. In here, near quietude envelopes me, Much to the dismay of my train of thought as well as my eardrums, I can still hear the Orcal air purifier purring in the background which is abruptly canceled out by the sound of someone violently pounding on his project in the backyard.

I take a slow breath and look out at the view beyond. The mountain view is endless, stretching far in the fading sunlight. I take a bite of the fruit, it's sweet, sharp… unfamiliar, although it tastes like the tar-tar fruit we grow in the East. The fruit slips from my fingers when I notice it, the flicker of orange lights down in the capital below. At first, I think it’s a fire. The torches blaze brighter than usual, moving like restless stars. But then I hear it, faint music carried by the wind, laughter rising and falling in the distance.

��𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘤 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘐 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘥𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘪�

The frightening soundwave shook Sir Osborn, Paxton, and the other regular Osborn family members into bleeding out of their orifices and falling to the ground. Swenson looked shocked. “Is that Sydartha Society’s Titanium Leo-roar?” Hank Veal’s signature skill? Kayson knew it as well?! Judging by how he had executed it, he was close to completing the practice, and even grandmasters could not possibly overlook the effect of the soundwave. “Hah!” Valdis shouted, dispelling Kayson’s soundwave with wrathful eyes that looked like they could spit fire. “Kid, you’re provoking me!”

To win votes for the school's annual honors award, my stingy roommate picked rotten fruit out of the trash and made it into fruit cups for our classmates. The moment I found out, I rushed to stop them from eating it. Instead, they accused me of being jealous and tore into me for trying to ruin their chances. That very night, they were rushed to the hospital with severe food poisoning. Afterward, my roommate framed me, claiming I had deliberately poisoned the fruit because I did not want her to win the school honors award. She even hid a bottle of pesticide in my locker and convinced our other two roommates to lie for her. With no way to prove my innocence, I became the target of furious

Music became the language through which I could convey my deepest joys and sorrows. So I will be playing the melody of Dandelions by Ruth B. My fingers trembled with anticipation as I pressed the first key, producing a sound that seemed foreign and discordant. It was clear that my touch was not enough to produce the harmonious melodies I had envisioned. Undeterred, I continued to press each key, determined to improve the synchronicity of the notes and create a beautiful composition.

"Fuck your hand for me." In the end, it's not my fingers that send me over the edge—it's the sound of the stranger moving in his booth. He is grunting deeply, and the entire floor shakes in response. My friend must be a big man, and the idea of that makes me cry out in pleasure.

They had a boy barely older than Jamie ring a handbell at every word Amen until the sound was a net. The House of Sacred Song knew what all devotions learn late: sound moves through stone. Sound holds. Sound binds. I do not know whether my hunger will learn to bind me stronger than their iron did. I fear the answer. I fear more that it will not. The night gave me its full attention. That is not a comfort. A siren far off keened like a priest who has forgotten which God he serves. A neighbor above her rooms argued with a box that vomited numbers. A drunk two streets over tried to fight a door and lost.

He blushed as he was congratulated. One spectator from afar didn't like any of it. "Fast. Ingenious. Tsk. But he's still deaf. He's useless."