Constant music

The music flowed through all. From first to last breath, it was the one constant.
No one knew where it came from.
No matter where you went, the music was there. High in the mountains or deep below the waves, the music never changed.
Throughout the world, people went about their lives to its unending melody.
Until the the day it stopped.

I had been on the beach, laughing as Norbert and Henry splashed through the surf. The music rang through my mind, its high trill mingling with my laughter. Not a single cloud marred the warm summer sky. Turning away from my friends, I had reached into the cooler for a soda.
The music's trill wavered as a low drumming began. I listen to the drumming as I popped open my soda. It roused my interest as I wondered how long it had been a part of the music. The drumming echoed strangely, twisting the normal trill. My friends stopped playing and looked at each other, while further down the beach a baby began to cry. The music was now a  mournful cry. The all-consuming drumming grew louder and louder, until it was all I could hear.
My soda fell as I lifted my hands to my ears.
The music had changed, and I had no idea why. I couldn't even think. The drumming was everywhere.
Drum.
Brum.
Trum.
Then, just as I felt the beginnings of madness creep into my mind, it stopped.
The music stopped.
With a shuddering breath, I waited for it to begin again.
I waited.
And waited.
But as the minutes dragged by, all I heard was the ocean waves and the baby's cries.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I strained to hear the music. Just a note. That's all I needed. Something. Anything!
But this silence.
Thickness filled my throat as the silence stretched on.
It was gone.
Gone.

The music never returned. Throughout the world, people searched for a place where they could hear it again. Others claimed to still hear it, and to be able to share it with others. They made instruments and played them, some even attempted to sing what they could remember of the music.
But that wonderful, constant comfort was gone. None could replicate it, and the imitations only made my longing for its melody grow.
At the same time, my heart aches for those children born after the music disappeared. They are drawn to imitations, unconsciously seeking for the sound they'll never hear.
And even now as an old woman, there are moments when I wake from sleep and listen for it.
Hoping that I'll hear the music again.