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ClowSui
19th November 2005, 6:30 AM
C Major - Beauty


The music spun and wove in its elegant dance, so enticing and mysterious.

The keys tinkled and were pressed down as melody after melody struck as gold in the audience's ears. It was delightful, the way such divinity was so...so simple, yet an awfully repulsive force of power to the mind. Heavenly music, one sang in his mind. Powerful emotion, another chimed. Breathtaking yet inscrutable; we are made chauvinists of this love; my amazing dream; passion in layers; and so much more. All these comments associated the big black grand piano on the stage with charming qualities. Surely, the piano. But the player, what of him? Of such neglect, of such stance. To speak of his sorrow could not be nevermore, because from the start it was such.

And it turned to an abrupt (but so graceful) stop. A pause, then praise. Rounds and rounds of applause, but the man left the stage unnoticed. He was not bitter, though. He was not unhappy. He was fragmented, but carefully pieced together. And he knew, that the applause, under the veil of pretense and presumption, was for the piano.

---

The walk home was rather wet, Sonorus Deis, age 19, decided. It was not wet and paved with rain. In fact, it was sopping wet with human imperfection. He breathed in air that was thick with smoke, his tousled brown hair touched the corners of rape and prostitution, the nape of his neck rang with gruff speech, his long legs and slender arms tingled with breath of drunks, barely shielded by his fleece and jeans and shoes. The performance had been good though, Sonorus decided. If good was to have the piano recognized once again for its brilliance as a tool for the wielder, then yes, it was good. But if good was judged by being recognized by the crowd and not the tool, then it was a disaster, as usual.

Slowly but surely, rain began to sputtered in swirls across the ground. The noise was a refresher to Sonorus because the music of the brilliant water disrupted flaws. It was heavenly, he had decided as a young one, because it echoed its call, seizing the flaws that he hated and vanquishing them from his senses. Music did the same thing, and that was why he played. That was why he loved the music and only the music, and did not care for much else. To him, it was like a drug. To him, music was everything, and as he stepped into the local cafe, the dormant, greater need for brilliance pumped energy into his heart as the welcome warmth of melody, harmony, and coffee (which he enjoyed to a certain degree) flooded his senses.

The café owner took another swig of his sherry after a round of merry laughter. Other people sat there at their glass tables against the cool but warm, contradictory but ordinary wall, sipping their coffee and lattes so slowly and contemplating, sieving out thoughts and memories and moments of the day. Some were discussing things, whether it was current issues or sports teams. The waiters bustled back and forth, doing their jobs dutifully and carefully. A couple men were having a good time chatting about their sons. But all the warmth and thought around was nothing to Sonorus until he sat on the familiar black bench, beginning to flesh out the keys he would set his eyes and thoughts on….

And then, the whole café fell silent. They were waiting wordlessly for the procedure that would begin a much more expressive and quiet session. Sonorus could tell that they were begging for him to play. Play for us. Acknowledge our powerful feeling. The adult slowly nodded, but with a different intention in mind. [/I] I shall not play for you, because you do not acknowledge me. I shall play for myself and myself only. [/I] And then it was so, the sheer brilliance and power that had been at the concert. He became, and was not aware, and only was a man, and his passion.

--

yes, no?