The Sound Of The Seagull

A Story by ZoëLeB

It felt like a constant stream; flowing through my ears, to then crash inside my skull and pool together my brain-- swirling round and round and rising higher and higher until I was drowning in it.

I remember the first time I went on a swing. My dad had built a wooden swing set in my backyard. The contraption itself was fashioned out of mahogany wood and consisted of two large triangle frames�" the basses hammered into the ground and the tips of the triangle connecting with either end of a long beam, from which the two small swings hung. Each swing was a slab of navy plastic that curved into the shape of a closed mouth smile, with two long yellow chains on either side.

I bounced up and down excitedly watching my dad with wide eyes as he drilled the last screw into place. Once he was finished he picked me up and sat me on the swing. I wrapped my fingers tightly around the yellow chains�" securing my grip, and the metal felt cold and heavy in my hands. I wiggled around in the seat until I felt comfortable and then I used all my strength to push off the ground and pump my legs. I kept moving my legs back and forth, back and forth until I could see the bright blue sky getting closer and closer; almost as if I could reach out and run my fingers through it like water in a river, creating a ripple through the atmosphere.

The sky was clear; there was not a single cloud in sight and I admired it's deep rich beauty until I saw a blur of white out of the corner of my eye. It was a seagull. It swooped past, cutting through the sky like a knife through butter. I watched in awe as it soared above the tree letting out a squawk as it flew by. I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of the seagull. It was a high-pitch yeow, yeow, yeow sound with the fourth yeow dragging on longer than the rest. The sound itself resembled that of a little girl's scream repeating itself over and over again without falter; it was an unpleasant sound, to say the least, yet as ear-splitting as it was, I found myself zoning in on the sound. It felt like a constant stream; flowing through my ears, to then crash together inside my skull and pool in my brain-- swirling round and round and rising higher and higher until I was drowning in it. The sound began to morph, transforming into something sweet and alluring rather than displeasing and repellent as if it were the call of a siren.
I began to pump my leg's faster and with more force, attempting to fling myself into the air, trying to reach the sound. I spread my arms out to either side of me and began to flap like a bird, forcing myself higher into the sky. The sound of the seagull became stronger and stronger until it completely enveloped me, clinging onto my being and pulling me towards it. I felt my body lift off the seat and I eagerly began to flap my arms and pump my legs faster. The song became louder and louder and it felt like I was in a trance; as if nothing mattered more than reaching the source of the sound, craving to hear it directly in my ear.

I felt something soft tickle the tips of my fingers and I began to stroke it which lulled me out of my trance. Opening my eyes, I saw nothing but an endless expanse of blue in front of me, stretching out for miles and miles. I was awestruck; flying among a flock of seagulls, their feathers tickling my arms and legs, their soothing sound playing right into my ears. I felt like I was a part of them. I felt free.

The wind whipped past me prickling along my skin, sending shivers down my spine until my toes curled in my shoes-- yet the warmth of the sun ran across my back, kissing my cheeks and acted as a shield against the persistent wind. My shirt and pants billowed, making me resemble that of a hot air balloon and my hair was flying all over the place; twisting and turning, obscuring my vision. I flew higher and higher into the sky until the houses became nothing but specks of colour and the trees began to blur together into bright green shimmering blobs. I held on to this feeling never wanting to let it go; nothing but the endless blue in my sights, the sound of the seagulls filling my ears, the feathers brushing against my fingertips, and the wind and sun wrapping around my body.

I watched the sun begin to fall towards the earth, the sky began to morph into soft shades of gold, orange, and pink and that's when I knew it was time to go home. I closed my eyes and stopped flapping my arms�" feeling myself slowly start swaying back and forth, back and forth until I was free-falling through the sky. I let my body go completely slack; letting gravity bring me back until my feet were brushing against the ground, my hands gripping onto the cold metal chains and I could wriggle back into the seat. Once I opened my eyes, I was sitting back in my swing; as if I had never left, but I still held on to the feeling of soaring freely through the sky. The sound of the seagull became alluring-- tantalizing in a sense, coaxing me to it with the promise of soaring freely through the never-ending blue. I spent every day in my backyard, swinging outside for hours and hours, flying high in the sky with the birds. The sound of the seagull filled my head; playing itself over and over again in my mind like a mantra. It became addicting, I heard the call once and I could not hear it again, I lived off of it as I lived off of water, drinking it every day.

As I got older the sound of the seagull became less alluring; I spent less and less time in my backyard swinging on my swing, flying with the birds, and instead learned how to count to 10 and sing the alphabet. As time went on, my voyages to the sea in the sky became sporadic; slowly, but surely, the flock of birds began to diminish and the sound of the seagull became quieter, fading out. The constant stream running through my ears began to trickle; the pool inside my brain began to settle, becoming motionless and slowly draining, morphing from an ocean into a small puddle.

One day, I returned to my swing and a feeling of nostalgia washed over me; sitting down the curve of the seat felt familiar, the cold metal comforting and my feet slotted into the divots I had rubbed into the dirt. I could hear the sound of the seagull. It was faint as if it were nothing but a whisper, yet I felt it lulling me into a trance. I closed my eyes and began to pump my legs. I pushed myself faster and faster throwing my arms open to either side to eagerly flap them until I took flight. The song became louder-- filling my ears once again, but it wasn't as strong. It didn't envelop me in its usual warm embrace, pulling me towards with its sweet yet addictive voice, until I longed to have it rush into my ear. I had to chase after it.

I forced every single cell and nerve ending inside me to zero in on the sound until it increased above a whisper. I began to pine after it, eagerly flapping my arms and pumping my legs, but it wasn't the sweet, captivating voice that was so familiar to me. It shifted, increasing an octave until it morphed into an ear-piercing shriek that made the hairs on the back of my neck stick up and my eardrums bleed. My hands shot up to cover my ears, attempting to block out the deafening sound, but it only became louder until it wasn't rushing into my ears, but leaking out of them, my head was so full that it was drowning in it. I felt myself begin to fall. The sky began to shift and moved until it was nothing but an obscure blur; I was looking at a paint palette with an array of colours and someone has taken a paintbrush and mixed all the colors together; swirling them around and around in messy circles, leaving behind a foreign colour.

I felt a pain build up in my chest; as if someone has repeatedly punched me leaving behind a tender, darkening bruise. I no longer recognized the sound of the seagull. The sound was no longer sweet and alluring but displeasing and repulsive. After so many years of ignoring the sound, getting swept up into the ways of life, I forgot it. That addictive, enticing voice that I would do anything to get close too; letting it pour into my ears, filling my head until it was my only thought-- is now a faint, deafening shrill that I can barely remember and would do anything to escape from.

Now, when I return to my swing, I close my eyes and try to listen for the sound of the seagull, yearning for it. Sometimes I can hear it quietly playing in the back of my mind, but it's a song that I can't sing because I don't remember the name and over time, I've forgotten the words. As though it's nothing but a burnt-out lightbulb flickering on and off momentarily to then completely shut off, plunging me into darkness. Now when I extend my arms out to either side, I can't feel my fingers brushing against soft feathers and when I pump my legs I can't feel the wind dance along my skin; twisting and turning my hair, or the sun kissing my back-- and when I use all of my strength to push myself higher and higher; I cannot take flight and sore freely through the endless blue because I can no longer fly.