Christmas Day – drummers drumming

Written by: Elina Ong (23-E3)

Designed by: Tan Shi Ying Marissa (23-O1)

In some places, a winter wonderland. In others, a frigid blizzard, one that lulls its victims into a peaceful and painless death. Twelve often praised the powers that be for not making him preside over such a desolate winter. He much preferred the joyous shrieks of children over the solemn silence of the northern wastelands. For a minute, Twelve sat in bed contemplating. How does One feel about the North? Is he lonely? Maybe I should invite him over to the Asian Skies some time.

The blazing red leaf on his window fluttered over to him eagerly. However, Twelve took no notice of the leaf, leaving it with only one choice. It gave itself a run-up; a stinging red mark was left on Twelve’s cheek. Taking this as a well deserved reminder, Twelve leapt out the door with his snare drum and into the winds that guided him to the Asian Skies.

Under the twilight skies of Asia, children gazed up expectantly as the milky way emerged, waiting. Twelve’s eyes curled into crescents as he watched the eager children. Though they could not see him or even knew of his existence, he found no greater joy than in teasing them. 

He hit his drum once. Miniscule drops of water shot out from the batter head of his drum, hurtling through the sky. 

He hit his drum again. The droplets froze, drifting down as intricate crystals into the palms of children.

As suddenly as it had started, the gentle snow was no more. With his drumsticks trembling over the drum, Twelve held back an unbecoming cackle at the children’s disappointment. With much restraint, Twelve managed to breathe a sigh, wiping a few escaped tears from his eyes.

“Alright, alright, no more teasing. Have a jolly white Christmas this year!” Twelve began drumming an exuberant tune for his audience, who squealed and twirled to his silent rhythm before the backdrop of the white-speckled sky.

Throughout the score, the same scenes would play out every year. Children were hauled off to bed. Children woke to a white playground that stretched as far as the eye  could see. Children declared mock wars and played god every day till the first flowers of spring bloomed once more.

With his job done for the year, Twelve finally retired and let the winds sweep him away, promising himself a hot chocolate once he got home. Kicking his shoes off at his front door, Twelve spied an official notice waiting on the ground. His half-lidded eyes ran over the notice; after all they rarely ever spoke of truly important matters. His eyes widened. 

“It is with great sorrow that we report the passing of One. A drummer like no other, a senior like no other. He shall be dearly missed by our ensemble. May he rest peacefully with the winds and snow.

Twelve, you have been deployed to the North, effective immediately. We regret not allowing you to grieve, but we fear that the North is too critical a location to leave unchecked. You are expected to arrive within the week; you shall receive your new appointment then.”

The notice slipped from his hands, fluttering away in the wind as his colleague had. 

The next week went by in a blur. By the time he came to his senses, he was in the frozen plains of the North with his few possessions and was newly dubbed as “Eleven”. With the few instructions he was given, Eleven settled down and did what he did best. 

The first few years were bearable, fun even. Eleven had all the time in the world to experiment and cook up unique rhythms, without fear of disappointing an audience. 

Eleven became Nine. There was no audience to showcase his talents to. He comforted himself by practising, hoping to give a wondrous performance should the opportunity one day present itself. So he kept drumming, waiting. 

Nine became Five. There was no one to listen. No one to rejoice in the cold he brought. No one but the wildlife, whose primal minds could never appreciate him as humans would. Some days, he would remember the children who once frolicked in his winter. Lamenting the days he lost, he would drum ferociously, plunging the North into centuries of bitter blizzards. Perhaps someone will pay him a visit soon and quell his rage. After all, winter must be coming to a close in the other lands.

One’s drumming had long lost its vigour. Having grown numb to his own lonesome, his drumming droned on monotonously in the empty canvas of the North. His glassy eyes stared blankly across the Northern expanse as he drowned in the sorrow that entangled him with insidious vines. 

“Nothing new,” he thought. They’ve been with him since the start.

He was sometimes struck with questions. Questions that he would never see answered. Were there other lands that snowed? Were there other drummers like him? Surely not; if there were, surely he would have met them. And yet he still wondered. 

Were they as lonely as him?

As he pondered, his gaze came to rest on a set of tracks etched in the snow, like a scar carved into the landscape. He scrutinised the new path, trying to figure out where it started from. At the growing end of the path were unfamiliar figures hunched over and bundled in fur that did not belong to them, as they made their arduous trek further through the icy terrain. One jolted forward, knocking his drum over. His mind, still muddled from centuries of inactivity, struggled to understand what he was seeing. It was like revving up an old engine. Finally, a vague memory surfaced. One of dancing and celebration. 

That’s right. There was something he had been wanting to do. 

With quivering hands, he set his drum upright and began drumming again, attempting a lively rhythm. However, his movements were clumsy and offbeat. He tightened his grip on his drumsticks and took a deep breath. Slower. 

The travellers stopped in their tracks and turned their gazes up. 

One’s muscles warmed up, slowly regaining their practised motions. The first cracks of a smile appeared on his face. His scores unravelled in his mind, yellowed yet overflowing with spirit, filling his beats with reignited passion. In the day, he gave them an adventurous theme, befitting their expedition into a place so far from civilisation. He played till sundown, when the moon and stars awoke and the humans rested. When they peeked from their tents at the calm weather that came to them as a miracle. Playing them a lullaby, One’s tears fell with the snow he brought.

He finally felt warm again.