Have you ever wondered what it's like to have four or five, or maybe more, songs stuck in your head? Imagine having that many people crammed into a small room and all desperately vying for your attention. Now imagine that, in a classroom, when you really want to sing so they leave you alone. But you can't, because a) you'd look like a total weirdo and b) there are other people trying to focus. That's an average day for me. Music is a big part of my family's culture, and it has a lot of meaning for me even beyond that. I think about this a lot: what if we could use music as a tool to connect with people? What if we could use it to tell stories and bring communities together? Growing up, my dad was a music enthusiast. We're a big family - eight kids, all from the same parents - so we made a lot of dishes at dinner. We live in an old farmhouse with no dishwasher, so at the end of the day, we'd all clean the kitchen and do the dishes together. This was in the days before Spotify and iTunes, back in the mid-2000s to early-2010s so if we wanted music, we had to sing. And sing we did. My dad would lead the melody and my sisters would sing harmony and to my eight-year-old ears, there was nothing more beautiful. The world was at its brightest when we were singing together. It made - actually, still makes - you feel like you're part of something greater than the sum of its parts. Even before I was born, my family was musical. So much so that I began to recognize certain songs in the womb, and to put me to bed when I was little, you had to sing "One Hand On The Radio" by Aengus Finnan or I wouldn't sleep. I'm seventeen now. I'm going to be a part of the senior music class, studying in-depth music theory and refining our skills on our chosen instruments - the flute, for me. This class has reinforced what my childhood led me to believe: when you're involved in music, you become part of a greater whole, on two levels. The first level is the local community. I've met some amazing people through music, people that otherwise I'd have no way of knowing. It draws strangers together, with all different strengths and weaknesses, and helps them overcome their failings to create art. Painters use pigments to decorate space, but musicians use sound to decorate time. Being part of that is a spectacular feeling, but one that's quite impossible to describe to someone who hasn't felt it before. The second level is the global community. Just about everyone I know has at least a superficial appreciation for music in some form. If you showed someone from the other side of the world a classical piece like Vivaldi's Four Seasons or Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake, they'd have a hard time denying that it's beautiful music. Even if you think it's boring, you can certainly appreciate the skill required to play the pieces. This is true for many other forms of music too, not just classical. Music is a community thing and it's meant to be shared. I could go to Europe or the Middle East or Africa and find another musician to play with, regardless of lingual, cultural, or social differences and perform a piece with them. As long as we can both read music, we can let go of the barriers of society. As a musician, I'm not constrained like others are. My art form allows me a certain kind of freedom and a crazy connection to others that can't be taken away from me. You can't unlearn something, after all. So whether you just listen to music when it plays on the radio or you're a fanatic like me who listens to everything under the sun, remember that music is much more than nicely organized sound. Imagine a scene from your favourite movie, a very emotional one. Now remove the background music, and you're left with something a little more shallow. Music is the language that communicates beyond words and extends beyond the barriers of language. It is the one thing that can speak to anyone no matter where you are or what your culture is. It's the universal language and using it, we can connect with all kinds of people. And in a world that's so divided, so disjointed, couldn't we use a little more unity?

It was easy to get scared. When the darkness swallowed up the Earth, the night seemed to coat everything in a suffocating blanket of black, it was a simple matter to give in to the fear. What you did next was up to instinct and sin. The guilt and things best left buried in the deepest parts of the heart. The accusation on their faces was bad. The disappointment in Mama's eyes was a thousand times worse. And so you did it in the shameful, terrifying dark because at least there nobody could see the tears fall down your face. A glance out the window never revealed anything except what your mind created. The moon was hidden behind dense clouds, if it was there at all. No light managed to break through the black. No city lights, no stars, nothing. Endless miles of night that stretched into the distance, and suddenly you were outside and it's chasing you, don't turn back don't turn around no no no don't look at it keep running... And in the night you can't see anything, no way you can watch your step when you can't even see the hand in front of your face. So then your foot catches on a rock or maybe it's a stump, too dark to tell and you're falling and now it's there and the CLAWS NO STOP PLEASE And suddenly you're gone, nothing left but ash and bones and the hard piece of stone that passed for your heart. The wind sweeps you away, or rather what's left. The sun finally, finally breaks over the horizon and the day starts anew. Then you're back in your bed, soft and warm, and now you just have to get through the day, don't break under the stares. Then by night, you can try to fight off the monsters that lurk out the window alone.

"Aw come on, don't look at me like that..." Dammit. Those enormous eyes were staring at me like I'd just ordered its execution. How could I just leave t there? I had no idea how to explain this to my wife. In my days of adventuring and travel, I'd brought home all kinds of strange things. It was my job, after all; people paid good gold for retrieving artifacts or rare ingredients, heirlooms, whatever they needed. I was their man. Enchanted swords, disembodied eyes that still blinked, satyr hair, even a haunted mirror had all come home with me at some point. My dear Evelina had made peace with it long ago, provided I got rid of my findings in a reasonable amount of time. But the dog-sized baby dragon currently trying to follow me home? I may have finally pushed my luck too far. It made a little warbly noise in its throat, almost like a muted cry. It peered up at me, seemingly seeing right into my soul with its massive green eyes. Its white body shimmered in the light, scattering beams of sun into the mouth of the cave I'd found it in. As far as I could tell, it had been abandoned. Remnants of two other shells, long dried out and disintegrating into the sandy floor, indicated its red and yellow siblings had hatched long ago. The white shell, however, had been still damp from its occupant. The poor thing was mewling pathetically, probably from loneliness, when I found it. Dragons were social creatures, after all. Oh, hell. I let out a long sigh. How could I leave it here, knowing its parents weren't coming back for it? I looked at it. It looked at me. I tried to shut out my traitorous compassion and be logical. It purred and gently pawed at my leg. I lost the battle. "Alright, fine," I growled, not truly angry at it but frustrated by my weakness. The little dragon gave a happy chirp and fluttered its winglets excitedly. A little puff of smoke shot out of its nose. I shouldered my bag and set off down the road. The dragon puttered ain't beside me, green eyes practically glowing with happiness. Tiny claws made a small clattering noise on the uneven cobblestones of the road. I reached down and stroked its wings, eliciting a delighted purr. Maybe Evelina would be swayed by this thing's cuteness. I hoped. Otherwise, I wouldn't be sleeping on the couch, I'd be single.

The wind roared around the house like an enraged beast, rattling shutters and breaking tree branches as it did. Claws of icy air fought their way inside through the damaged panes and worn-out frame of my old farmhouse window. I curled into a tight ball under my blankets; piled as they were, it still wasn't enough to keep out the cold. I shivered as a particularly strong gust made the entire house groan. Sleep eventually claimed me, despite the bone-deep chill. I dreamt of arctic blizzards. Outside, the night's tempest howled on.