It all starts with a scream.
When offspring are sired into the unfortunate reality, they unleash a mighty wail that signals their presence, as well as their immediate displeasure regarding their circumstances. The screams travel through the ears of the practitioner, telling them that their efforts are not in vain. The screams bounce off the walls of the structure, telling everyone that new life has just been born. The screams echo in the attentive halls of the parents’ ears, bestowing relief. Their child is here. Their child is safe. Their child will live. For now.
As the child’s limbs grow longer and their mind becomes more developed, the form of their screams earns a similar progression. Instead of crying for attention, they release “goos” and “gahs” to show infantile affection. They perform a rhythmic repetition of the same loud sound to convey joy. They mold their screams into words, conduits of meaning and clearer communication. The child can finally hold a conversation with their parent, no matter how lacking it may be. They can finally ask for things that appeal to them, much to the parents’ dismay. They can lower the volume to be conspiratorial. They can raise their voice to make their underdeveloped and irrational opinions known. They can do so much, but realize the impact that very first scream has.
To scream for the first time is to light a candle and let it burn. Over time, the candle’s heat will keep radiating against the wax, melting it. The melted wax pools at the bottom of the candle, waiting for the moment when the wick reaches it. And when that wick draws near to the disaster of its own design, it succumbs, drowning in the pool of its previous flourishing. Screams function similarly. The moment one is unleashed, it carries through the hall, growing weaker until its energy is gone for good.
There is one difference between candles and screams, however.
You can snuff out a candle for it meets its regular demise.
But you cannot destroy a scream once it has begun.
