More birds, Selena thought, as the birds woke her up yet again.
And her mind obliged, supplying: To everything, turn, turn, turn, there is a season, turn, turn, turn.
Selena snorted. That was the kind of stupid joke that a mind came up with when it was woken up way too early.
She headed down to the kitchen and made herself some coffee. She might have felt disheartened from not getting the song in yesterday, but somehow it was making her feel more motivated. So far, she’d been prevented from doing it by things outside of her control and, well, her own procrastination, but not today. Today, that wasn’t going to happen. Today, she was going to get the song in even if it killed her.
So she ran some extension cords to other circuits to make sure things wouldn’t cut out again, set herself up comfortably, and began to sing. She’d decided that she might as well go along with her mind and sing “Turn! Turn! Turn!”, something less depressing than what she was going to go with, but not happy and bouncy either. She was set, she was ready, and to her complete surprise … she made it through the song.
And yet, despite being happy that she’d gotten through it, she was also disappointed. It hadn’t felt right. It had felt mechanical, like she was going through the motions. Walking through the part. She felt disconnected from it, like she was doing a technical runthrough instead of performing, or even singing for fun. She’d hoped that she could recapture some of the magic she’d used to feel while singing, but it didn’t seem like that was the case. At least not yet.
Still, just because she felt off didn’t mean she actually was off. Her nerves and the issues she’d had so far could make her feel that way, overthinking her reactions and missing that she was actually doing things the way she’d always done them. Maybe she was worrying for nothing … and maybe that worry was entirely responsible for, well, the feelings — or lack thereof — causing her to worry.
Well, only one way to find out. She had to listen to the song itself.
But listening to the song only confirmed her worries. It was technically sound, but it was flat, hollow, emotionless … just the way she’d felt when she was singing it. Sure, she knew that lots of people would kill to be able to sing a song like that that well, but it was still devoid of any emotion, any heart, any brilliance or shine or, well, any of the things that she used to be able to bring to songs, that everyone had always commented on about her singing, and that she herself had loved to hear when she listened to her own music.
She sighed. It had been a long time since she’d really tried singing, and she couldn’t expect to be back on form right out of the gate. Maybe she could try some different songs, or …
Suddenly, her attention was drawn back to the song. She’d been letting it run to the end while she mused about why it wasn’t working, and she could have sworn, at the end, she heard a voice say “Who are you?” right before everything cut out.
Quickly, she rewound the recording and played it again, but the voice was gone. She tried listening to it a couple more times and even put the headphones on to listen to it without any distractions, but she didn’t hear anything from the song. And a quick look outside showed that no one was around, and if someone had been in the house surely they would have said more than that. But she searched the house anyway, and found no one.
Well, that’s not at all creepy, she thought to herself.
She must have been hearing things, she guessed. She might have decided to take a crack at another song, but between setting everything up again, singing, reviewing the singing, and searching the house it was getting too late and she was feeling too tired, down and, yes, creeped out to bother. She took a quick shower and set up for another evening of listening to music and praying that she could get her mojo back until she fell asleep.