The Ring. The Phone. The Eye. The Pool. But they forgot. THE REED
The Reed.
She had insisted. Insisted that she be allowed to do more than stand around in the hot sun while others were playing music. Insisted that she be allowed to play her oboe while marching in the band. If everyone could do it, so could she. And so, for the first time in history, there was an oboist in marching band.
At first, everything went fine. Nothing out of the ordinary happened, and the oboist in particular was able to play and march at the same time just like her fellow band mates. Even the band director, noting how well things were going, began to think of introducing the same to other schools.
One fine Saturday morning, the band was, as usual, sweltering in the hot sun as they awaited the command to start marching. When it was given, they, yawning away, proceeded to do so. This time, however, there was a slight change in arrangement - due to insufficient space at the back, a trombone player moved in place behind the flutes and oboes.
Meanwhile, the oboe reed had cracked. It was expected, after all. Feeling frustrated, the oboist tried to bring it back to playing condition while trying to keep in step at the same time. She did not notice the flautists on her left taking turns ducking as the trombone with the faulty slide passed over their heads, one by one...
Finally, the oboist decided that there was nothing more she could do to the reed, put it back into her instrument and back into her mouth.
There was a crash. Startled by the sound and sudden headache, the oboist jumped, sending to oboe reed straight up through the roof of her mouth, right past the nasal cavity and out through the right eyeball. There shall now be a one-minute break for readers to throw up. Finished? Ok.
Speechless with horror, the oboist fell to the ground with her instrument still up her mouth. Blood gushed out all over the brand new, shiny, recently polished nickel-plated-keys instrum... nah, that's being too cruel. Let's change it to... Blood gushed out all over the 17-year old oxidizing oboe which had rotting, termite-infested wood and had only one working note.
She died.
And the band went marching on.
After a while, some intelligent person in the band noticed that the oboist was missing.
"Where's the oboist?" he asked.
The rest of the not-so-intelligent band members pointed towards the bleeding corpse lying on the other side of the field. "We shouldn't just leave her there. She's ruining the wonderful scenery."
The remark was greeted with unanimous agreement.
And so they moved the lifeless body and dumped it in a nearby trashcan. The oboe, however, they kept, for even though it was 17-years old, oxidizing, termite-infested and all that, it was still an instrument and therefore valuable. The reed they kept as well, after pulling it out of the oboist's mouth, nasal cavity and right eyeball. After all, it was VERY expensive.
It was placed in the box of spare oboe reeds and forgotten about for a few years.
The Reed.
She had insisted. Insisted that she be allowed to do more than stand around in the hot sun while others were playing music. Insisted that she be allowed to play her oboe while marching in the band. If everyone could do it, so could she. And so, for the first time in history, there was an oboist in marching band.
At first, everything went fine. Nothing out of the ordinary happened, and the oboist in particular was able to play and march at the same time just like her fellow band mates. Even the band director, noting how well things were going, began to think of introducing the same to other schools.
One fine Saturday morning, the band was, as usual, sweltering in the hot sun as they awaited the command to start marching. When it was given, they, yawning away, proceeded to do so. This time, however, there was a slight change in arrangement - due to insufficient space at the back, a trombone player moved in place behind the flutes and oboes.
Meanwhile, the oboe reed had cracked. It was expected, after all. Feeling frustrated, the oboist tried to bring it back to playing condition while trying to keep in step at the same time. She did not notice the flautists on her left taking turns ducking as the trombone with the faulty slide passed over their heads, one by one...
Finally, the oboist decided that there was nothing more she could do to the reed, put it back into her instrument and back into her mouth.
There was a crash. Startled by the sound and sudden headache, the oboist jumped, sending to oboe reed straight up through the roof of her mouth, right past the nasal cavity and out through the right eyeball. There shall now be a one-minute break for readers to throw up. Finished? Ok.
Speechless with horror, the oboist fell to the ground with her instrument still up her mouth. Blood gushed out all over the brand new, shiny, recently polished nickel-plated-keys instrum... nah, that's being too cruel. Let's change it to... Blood gushed out all over the 17-year old oxidizing oboe which had rotting, termite-infested wood and had only one working note.
She died.
And the band went marching on.
After a while, some intelligent person in the band noticed that the oboist was missing.
"Where's the oboist?" he asked.
The rest of the not-so-intelligent band members pointed towards the bleeding corpse lying on the other side of the field. "We shouldn't just leave her there. She's ruining the wonderful scenery."
The remark was greeted with unanimous agreement.
And so they moved the lifeless body and dumped it in a nearby trashcan. The oboe, however, they kept, for even though it was 17-years old, oxidizing, termite-infested and all that, it was still an instrument and therefore valuable. The reed they kept as well, after pulling it out of the oboist's mouth, nasal cavity and right eyeball. After all, it was VERY expensive.
It was placed in the box of spare oboe reeds and forgotten about for a few years.