Re: Salem Farcelli Capitol done
Jul 4, 2013 18:11:51 GMT -5
Post by Sage on Jul 4, 2013 18:11:51 GMT -5
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A soft melody fills the house as my delicate fingers play a somewhat sad song on the grand piano. I am the musician of the family but I don't mind. I love music. The piano, under my competent hands can make very lovely music. I should write this melody down I think. I do just that and neatly write out the notes I've just played. My siblings sit around the room doing various things while listening to me play. I push my dark hair back from my chocolate colored eyes and stretch out my medium length arms. I've been at this for quite a while and my hands are getting tired. I stand up, stretching to my full 5'8" height and walk into the kitchen because my stomach is rumbling. now, what to eat? I wonder, searching the cupboards. Food of all sorts line the shelves but I don't know what to have. I finally settle on a can of Plum stew and heat it up over the stove, being carefull not to burn it.
"Come on Sale, you're going to be late for your recital" one of my siblings calls up. I hurry to put on my uniform, a pair of black dress pants and a nice blue silk dress shirt with a black tie. I hurry down the stairs and find that everyone is waiting for me. "Come on, I want front row seats to my baby's recital" my mom says. You would think she's never been to a recital before I think as we head out into the chilly late winter air.
My recital, like always, goes splendidly. My graceful hands fly across the piano as beautiful music fills the theatre. The song I play sounds so sad, the notes crying with emotion as I play. An image of a weeping girl goes through my mind as the song comes to an end and the audience roars with applause. I turn beat red as I bow and walk off the stage, feeling my heart beat slow as I relax from the exertion of playing the song perfectly. When it comes to music, I am a perfectionist and will not settle until it is the best it can be. This, as one can imagine, annoys my siblings considerably because I practice the same run over and over again until I get it perfect. My mother never seems to mind though, after all, she was the one who put me into music lessons in the first place and got me into playing every instrument I could. I’ve managed to master, so far, the piano, flute, violin, clarinet, trumpet, French horn, oboe, guitar, cello, saxophone, and the bassoon. Any instrument, it seems, I can play. As soon as the recital ends, my mother sweeps me into a huge hug. ”Oh, you were so good baby” she says, making me roll my eyes. ”It’s not like you haven’t been to my recitals before mom” I said, sighing as she released me.
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I pull out my flute from its case and carefully put it together, testing it to make sure it’s in tune. The tuner turns green, signalling that it is in tune and I smile before playing all my scales both major and minor. This, I’ve found is the best way for me to warm up because it wakes up my hands and gets them ready to play. My music stand stands before me, all my music laid out, the pages covered in pencil markings from mistakes I’ve made and dynamic markings. I blow into the instrument and feel the music come to life as I play. The music I play is from hundreds of years ago, from some dead guy named Tchaikovsky. The music I play is called themes from the Nutcracker. According to my music teacher, the Nutcracker was a ballet, whatever that is. The first part sounds somewhat like a march and is called March of the Tin Soldiers. I smile as I move on to Waltz of the flowers. This melody is much sweeter than the first one. Images of flowers dancing gracefully play through my mind as I play the music through. I finish the rest of the song before moving on to another piece by a much more recent composer. The music is called Feather on the wind. I didn’t bother to play through it because I knew that I needed to go over a specific spot. I found the spot and turned on my metronome, starting slowly and working my way up until I could play it at the needed speed.
Normally, in a day, especially if I don’t have school, I’ll spend about an hour and a half on two to three different instruments, practicing things that my music teachers give me and such. The only instrument I ever spend longer than an hour and a half on is my clarinet. I received it as a gift from my grandfather when I was seven and have been playing it ever since. It was my first instrument and I love it more than anything else,
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I looked in the mirror, trying to adjust the stupid bowtie my mom had made me wear and sigh. The stupid thing Will NOT straighten. I mutter under my breath about the whole stupid party we’re going to tonight and how it’s a waste of time. I don’t like parties because it means, usually, that I have to gel my dark hair back so that it looks presentable. I gaze down at the outfit I’ve been put in, a nice cream colored silk dress shirt, a black bowtie, a pair of black dress pants, and black dress shoes. I look very handsome, sophisticated as my mother would probably call me and it’s true, I look very professional. Normally, when I’m just at home practicing, I laze around in a pair of sweat pants and a loose fitting t-shirt that allows me to move around freely. I tried to adjust the bowtie so that it would be straight and finally give up, taking off the bowtie and opening the first button on my dress shirt. There we go, now I can actually breathe I thought, smiling. The boy staring back at me looked very interesting, with his long delicate hands, angular face, and dark hair. He looked kind of like he belonged somewhere else instead of in the Capitol and sometimes, that was how I felt, as if I were an outcast. It’s not that I don’t have friends, I do, I just rarely ever have time to see them because I’m always so busy practicing that I barely ever get time to spend with them.
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The party went by in a blur as I was swept into numerous dances with girls I didn’t even remember. All I remembered was watching the musicians in awe as they played. They were so good. I couldn’t take my eyes off them. As I laid in bed, I recounted the events in my mind as I drifted away into a dream that I knew would be about music of some kind.
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Waking up the next morning, I had a killer headache, not just a headache that lasted for a short time either, it was one of those ones that promised to make the rest of the day unpleasant, thankfully though, I live in the Capitol and we have things to make headaches go away. I get up and rush to the washroom, tearing through the cupboards until I find what I want, a headache pain killer. I pop one of them in my mouth, take a long drink of water and head back to my room. I hate headaches because they kept me from practicing. I look in the mirror to see that I look really rough at the moment, my eyes are bloodshot and my dark hair is a disaster. That’s when I remember exactly what had gone down the night before. I’d been slipped some sort of alcoholic beverage that I hadn’t realized at the time and had enjoyed it quite a bit. By the end of the night, I’d been drunk and was now paying for it. I really shouldn’t ever drink again I told myself, it was totally true. From that day forward, I vowed that I would never drink again and I haven’t since. I needed a shower and my room needed to be cleaned up. I did the latter of the two, grabbing a towel and heading to the bathroom only to find that one of my seven siblings were already in the shower. Damnit I thought. Thankfully, they didn’t take long and as soon as they left the washroom, I zipped in a locked the door behind me, glad to have the luxury of a hot shower at my disposal. I programmed the shower for warm with the scent of strawberries, my favourite scent, and hopped in. The warm water felt good on my skin as I washed my hair and body before rinsing and stepping out. I then wrapped my towel around my waist and went back into my bedroom where I got dressed into my practice clothes, as I’ve said before, and started cleaning up my room.
It didn’t take long to clean my room. No one else shared the room with me because nobody wants to share a room with a musician, it’s just not a good idea. Personally, I don’t mind. I like having my own room, it gives me privacy, something the rest of my family doesn’t have. I should probably mention that I’m an octuplet. I have seven brothers and sisters whom are all very different from one another. My brother Jinx is the poet of the family, although his poetry tends to be too dark for my taste. I’ve asked him a few times if he wants me to write music to go with his poems but he insists that his poems are too dark for such lovely music that I make. Sighing, I pull out my violin and strum a few notes, making sure that it is in tune. Once it’s tuned, I pull my bow across the strings and the music that comes from it is absolutely beautiful. Not as beautiful as the musicians from the night before but still breathtaking. I imagine the sun rising above the mountains that surround the capitol and it brings a smile to my face. What more could I possibly ask for in life[/size]
[Notes] all the practice things in this bio are what I would actually do while practicing a piece. Done^^[/size][/blockquote][/td][/tr][/table][/center]
[Word count] 1935
[Theme] Musically or Lively
[Codeword] <img src="http://i41.tinypic.com/16h2ibt.png">
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