Blog #2 - Time

The week following Mr. Evans's murder was quiet. From Marie's regular wanderings of the halls and her rare sightings of human life, she could tell the town was paranoid. No one went outside their apartments more than they had to. Even Sayori and her annoying squeaky little cart had disappeared from the halls.

The only sign of life in the building was Mr. Lamar, his low voice always asking the same questions. Marie listened everyday as he asked the next person if Mr. Evans had any enemies, if they saw him the night of the murder, what they were doing that night. The answers were always mumbled in the same irritated tone, wanting to be left alone. Mr. Lamar's investigations found nothing of relevance, and no one knew anything about Mr. Evans's murder.

At least, up until the concert.

Marie heard whispers about the mayor bringing in a songwriter, Conrad. He was supposed to pull the town up out of the slump it seemed to be stuck in. And although his concert did manage to lift some spirits, it left Marie feeling more depressed than ever.

Marie used to love music, the way the lyrics and the music came together to represent emotions in a way words never could. It could make her feel the artist's euphoria, hope, heartbreak,  pain. Music could do anything, and Marie loved that. She always had some song stuck in her head, singing to pass the time away.

Since her mysterious death, however, music lost its magic for Marie. Music was supposed to help communicate, but Marie had no one to communicate with. It had lost its purpose, and time crawled by for Marie without the help of music.

Marie did not attend the concert, and sat sulking in her corner (always the far right), trying to block out the music seeping through the windows from the amphitheater. It did not work. Closing her eyes, Marie wished now more than ever that she could sleep. Instead, her mind floated back to Mr. Evans's ghost, repeating those words over and over.

"...But I don't know what time is, it's in a jar"

Marie jumped to her feet when she heard that line of Conrad's rough voice. Not because the line was painfully relatable, but because of Mr. Evans. Time! That's what he was saying. Repeating three words. Time ran out. Time ran out.

Time ran out.