I woke up with big brass band playing outside my window. I got up to look, but nothing was there. The music stopped and then began again, this time as mariachi music.

I picked up the gun by the dresser, but it felt strange. It didn't feel heavy, not like it usually does. I looked at it and it melted away into nothingness. I looked around and the room seemed to shift in size and shape. The mariachi music became louder and louder, until I could hardly think.

The gun had to be around here somewhere. I had to find it. Lights grew bright outside the window and seemed to flicker. The gun wouldn't be gone, it would be here in this room. It had to be.

Finally, I closed my eyes and outstretched my hand. I felt the rough wood of the dresser and then the cool metal of the gun and I gripped it tight.

I opened my eyes. There were ghosts screaming at me, their mouths large and malformed. There was fungus on the wall and it seemed to grow at an alarming rate. The mariachi music turned into the music from hell.

I knew what I had to do. In my hand, I made a bullet. I made it from my own voice and all the voices I had ever heard, all the sounds I had ever heard. There was the song from my eighth grade prom. There was my mother's voice calming me with a lullaby.

The bullet vibrated with sound. I placed it in the gun and turned to the wall covered in fungus. I pulled the trigger and the air itself screamed in pain. Then the screaming vanished, as did everything else. No more bright lights, no more hellish music.

Just the blissful silence.