/M E A N D E R I N G/ Down the Beaten Path/ (pika)
Oct 30, 2010 16:24:10 GMT -5
Post by shrimp on Oct 30, 2010 16:24:10 GMT -5
holmes pekklar
[/color]~Oh, pardon me. You had wanted to see my biography? Well it is located in this coordinate. I hope you enjoy reading it~
[/justify]
Ah. The day is wonderfully frigid as I step out of my small, cozy abode. A smile is simply plastered onto my cooling facial features as I bound towards the street. Today is not any ordinary day. Today, I have off from half of the strenuous work that I call my life. On this day, I am not working in the candy shoppe. The manager got a case of the flu and wasn't able to make any candy. Therefore, it had to close down for a few days. However, he does not tend to get many customers anyways, so business would not be greatly impacted.
But either way, I now have a few free hours to myself. Sure, I cannot accomplish many things, such as wandering into a store and buying a hot beverage, or venturing into the Hob and purchasing a large rack of meat, but I have other things to do. Today, I am able to play my beloved violin. Sure, others may think it is rather strange to see a boy love this instrument so much. But without music, life would be empty. There would be no wonderful notes coming out of voices, or brass or wooden instruments.
There would be no cries of sadness, or bellowing of anger. For every voice in their own mind is a song that is simply being sung in a certain tone. Anger, sadness, joy, depression, angst, all of those expressions are simply different themes embedded into some kind of wonderful, original melody. It is rather amazing to simply meander into the hob and watch the wonderful cacophony of noise escalate into a glorious harmony of sights, sounds and voices.
"Shut up, I paid for that meat."
"No you didn't, give it here, thief."
"No! I didn't steal it idiot!"
"Would anybody like to buy some wonderfully delicious stew?"
"Hey, you. Want a little pick-me-up?"
"Mama, where are we?"
"Hey there, what's your name?"
"Ew, get away, you dolt."
"So I was walking along the road, when I saw..."
"You totally stole it! Hey! You! Didn't you see him slip it into his jacket pocket?"
"Stew! Get some piping hot, fresh stew!"
"Honey, hold my hand, there's a lot of people here."
"Oh come on baby, all I did was simply come and talk to you."
"I'm not interested."
"... and then he totally got his arse kicked by that goat!"
Oh, the wonderful sounds of conversation! How I wish that I could be part of it, contributing to the large symphony of sound known as "communication". But alas, oftentimes I am ignored. Perhaps I attempt to engage in conversation too often? It is possible that I just turn people away with my overbearing personality, but that is a part of myself that I just cannot get rid of so easily.
So instead, I do a different hobby, which I am about to perform right now. Holding my violin (it is a rather good thing that I am able to memorize my sheet music - if I were to bring them to every one of my playing "events", so many of them would be lost), I waltz down the dirt path towards the meadow. The meadow is the best place to play music - not only can you see everything around you, but the amazing sense of beauty that's normally scattered around the ground in the form of beautiful dandelions simply add to your muse. However, since it is nearing November, the said dandelions have already perished due to harsh temperatures, but there is always next year.
But back to the storyline - I finally enter the meadow, the decaying remains of flowers not dampening my spirits one bit. I shall admit, it has been a while since I have been this happy. Ever since that... situation... ended, I was caught in a long depression that resulted in my gaining of a few... I shall call them "hobbies" as well, only a little more self-destructive. Well, gambling and drinking are not exactly what one would call a hobby (well, gambling is somewhat in that category).
Nevertheless, I am once again straying from my course, so I shall return to the scene to explain what had been going on. I finally reached a warmer spot along the meadow; the sun had been shining in that spot so profusely, and for so long, that it was a rather comfortable temperature for a boy who was merely wearing overalls and a t-shirt. I had forgotten to bring my jacket in the midst of the excitement of playing more even more hours.
So I pick up my bow, tune the strings, and begin to play. It's a lovely piece - filled with wonderful dynamics and a smooth transition in between themes. Alas, before I know it, the piece is ending. So I start another. I do not happen to like this one as much - the staccatos are rather irritating with their suddenness, but it helps to bring out the eeriness of the piece, which is exactly what playing that song requires. Finally, I lapse into the last song - a mournful melody that tells of something lost. Or at least, that is what the title says.
But it is a most touching piece, filled with wonderful chances for vibrattos and whatnot. So by the time I hit the last note, my eyes are closed in an euphoria that can only be described as pure bliss. This feeling is heavenly - I never ever am a victim to this feeling, not even when I am indulging myself in those adrenaline rushing games of poker. This is a calmer sense of joy, one that can simply be created by the playing of a lone instrument, in a lone field filled with dying flowers.
So, I simply play on.