Post by Poison Shot on Aug 3, 2011 14:21:45 GMT -5
Lingering in the doorway,her head resting on the crimson colored wall with one hand on the Chery wood door, she thinks in solitude as she has for so many years. The gold painted handle shines from the dim light of the candles, reflecting a golden gleam over her eyes. She gently grabs the handle and pushes forward into the library of her house. The room is dark, open, and solemn, It is her resting place... the only place she can possibly live without regrets or thoughts of the outside world.
She slowly makes her way to each candle around the room filled with books...but its much more than that. Its her own soul, solidified into tangible objects she can control... the only way she can. Unlike the previous, this room is twice the size of any room in the house. The floors are old and wooden, making a slight noise with every step, prints left by the dust on everything she touches. The walls are a shade of a forest green, with patterns of roots near the bottom of the walls that wrap around the book cases and lead towards the piano at the end of the room. A classic grand piano, illuminated by the light of the moon that enters through the windows. She takes a small green book of a shelf, silver plating on the edges with the words "Nunquam Solus" lettered in Silver and Lucinda. She opens it and there is a few pages of writing, the rest are blank. She grabs a quill and some ink off a night stand and retreats to a desk near the Piano.
She leaves tracks in the dust as she gets to the paper and document covered desk. A rectangular ceramic vase sits on the left corner of the desk, it is filled with dead lavender and lilies, on the other side there is a globe on the corner of the desk with little pins inserted every here and there on different continents. They were here dreams, her aspirations, and this book... a diary. A book to document and immortalize it all, but it is only filled with few pages of plans and no real stories. The last few written pages are filled with doubt and notions of not being 'Good Enough' to accomplish her dreams. A piece of her hair withers and falls off, its dry, split, and discolored.
The lights of her candles begin to illuminate her, her hair is a cross between a dark grey and fading auburn with shades of near the ends. Her lips are chapped and faded, her clothes tattered. Her teeth becoming less and less pearly white as they once were. She picks up a picture on the center of the desk, an old picture of her when she was younger: She was beautiful. More beautiful and talented than anyone could possibly imagine. Her hair a perfect auburn color, full of life and reaching until nearly halfway down her back, its smooth, and straight with the exception of a few wavy shorter parts that reach her perfectly brilliant smile surrounded by her remarkably red lips. Her skin glowed, and is now covered in dirt and blemishes from the scratching and stress of the world on her shoulders.
She puts the picture down, a tear rolls down her face.
She opens the diary and starts reading her old entries, her youthful voice in mind...
"I feel invincible, the world is going to love me and my music. I can feel it."
"The music is coming along wonderfully, and I cant wait till the day comes that i may perform for one of the producers in this village, I really feel like i can have a shot"
"They loved my music! This is remarkable, I have a test show in a fortnight. I will do my best. Maybe my plans of visiting the other capitals and playing my music can be achieved! Brazil, Spain, France, England, Perhaps even the Eastern countries as well"
She smiled, re-reading all of these memories. She wipes off the tear with the sleeve of her blue, hole-filled, worn out cardigan and in the process looks at the glove again, the pins labeling the capitals and places she wanted to visit at some point. Madrid, Versailles, London. But there were much more pin holes in the more exotic spots: Paris, Rome, Tuscany, Munich, Dublin, Sydney, and every possible place. Her ambitions were limitless, and so was her motivation and drive. But it wasn't enough... another tear rolls down as she continues on reading.
"They didn't like it... they said they liked the music's essence but it needed more flash. My music speaks to the soul, not for the festivities of a common dinner party! And my dress and looks... they were not 'satisfactory'. They ask to change too much"
"They wont give me anything until I've changed. I am not good enough for them. I'll never reach Paris or Rome at this rate... I've taken out those pins. Maybe one day i can put them back on"
"I've changed... and I am not very fond of this new version of me. My hair is shorter, and now black, my dresses shorter and more like that of a waitress at the nearest brothel! And for what! I am still not good enough! I've taken out a few more pins... I need to fix myself a bit more before i can replace them and their hope"
She looks up from the book, tears fill her eyes as she remembers the cruelty of the business that had sought to change her into a plastic doll for the public to fantasize about. Her music had changed from soulful and solemn to more of that of a cabaret. She gently skimmed her hand and fingers over the holes of the missing pins... her missing dreams.
"I am never going to be good enough... they keep changing my music... my look. What have i become. I am not good enough for this home, this study, this piano, this life... I am leaving. And i will never come back."
But she did come back. Thirty-Five years later... she's not twenty anymore. She's aging and ready to die... life has brought her nothing but suffering and feeling of being incomplete.
She grabs the picture one more time, spins the dirty globe and heads towards the piano. She buries it under the floorboards and covers it in dirt. It's not her anymore... and that old self deserves a better death than the moral death that caused her to be a soul-less woman at the age of fifty-five.
The chair of the piano is black and leather, with buttons cross stitched into it. She sits and uncovers the piano. Its beautiful. One of the only things in the room without a layer of dust thanks to the cover. She plays a note, it resonates perfectly, and she smiles. She plays some of her old pieces, but slowly gravitates towards the cabaret versions of the song she had been forced to play, she lost control of what she played many years ago.
"Aahh!" She becomes infuriated. Grabbing the nearest candle and throwing it, the candle lands in the bookshelf and sits there.
She beings to play again... this time... she loses herself. The music pours out, a classical movement that touches the soul and tears away at the despair to leave the open heart needed to be free. She smiles again... and continues to play. The candle falls off the shelf and into a trashcan.... it burns. A fire begins to engulf the book case and then soon... the rest of the room. Flames burning everywhere, the glasses used to hold an old glass of champagne melts and falls over, the papers on the desk dry out and burst into flames... the diary turns red from the head and slowly burns.
But She does not care. Playing her songs, she forgets about the fire surrounding her. She cries harder with the love and passion she once had... and suddenly. It rains. The holes in the room let rain fall and extinguish some of the fire, but its too late. She's already engulfed and burning alive, still playing, still smiling.
The fires die down, leaving a charred body by the burnt piano. She is dead, returning to the ashes... and in those ashes, a flower grows and blooms. The flowers on the table... the lavender and lilies become reanimated... her hair returns to its beautiful auburn color, her lips once again red, her eyes glistening, her face pure and hers again. The diary, opened to the last entry:
"They didn't like it... they said they liked the music's essence but it needed more flash. My music speaks to the soul, not for the festivities of a common dinner party! And my dress and looks... they were not 'satisfactory'. They ask to change too much" with the new addition of "But they wont get it".
A Man, Sam one of her best friends, burst into the room seeing the scene from outside:
"Sarah! Sarah! Are you alright?"
Sarah rolls over...her hair partially covering her face. She gently moves the wavy segments of hair out of her eyes, smiles and says:
"Good Enough"
She slowly makes her way to each candle around the room filled with books...but its much more than that. Its her own soul, solidified into tangible objects she can control... the only way she can. Unlike the previous, this room is twice the size of any room in the house. The floors are old and wooden, making a slight noise with every step, prints left by the dust on everything she touches. The walls are a shade of a forest green, with patterns of roots near the bottom of the walls that wrap around the book cases and lead towards the piano at the end of the room. A classic grand piano, illuminated by the light of the moon that enters through the windows. She takes a small green book of a shelf, silver plating on the edges with the words "Nunquam Solus" lettered in Silver and Lucinda. She opens it and there is a few pages of writing, the rest are blank. She grabs a quill and some ink off a night stand and retreats to a desk near the Piano.
She leaves tracks in the dust as she gets to the paper and document covered desk. A rectangular ceramic vase sits on the left corner of the desk, it is filled with dead lavender and lilies, on the other side there is a globe on the corner of the desk with little pins inserted every here and there on different continents. They were here dreams, her aspirations, and this book... a diary. A book to document and immortalize it all, but it is only filled with few pages of plans and no real stories. The last few written pages are filled with doubt and notions of not being 'Good Enough' to accomplish her dreams. A piece of her hair withers and falls off, its dry, split, and discolored.
The lights of her candles begin to illuminate her, her hair is a cross between a dark grey and fading auburn with shades of near the ends. Her lips are chapped and faded, her clothes tattered. Her teeth becoming less and less pearly white as they once were. She picks up a picture on the center of the desk, an old picture of her when she was younger: She was beautiful. More beautiful and talented than anyone could possibly imagine. Her hair a perfect auburn color, full of life and reaching until nearly halfway down her back, its smooth, and straight with the exception of a few wavy shorter parts that reach her perfectly brilliant smile surrounded by her remarkably red lips. Her skin glowed, and is now covered in dirt and blemishes from the scratching and stress of the world on her shoulders.
She puts the picture down, a tear rolls down her face.
She opens the diary and starts reading her old entries, her youthful voice in mind...
"I feel invincible, the world is going to love me and my music. I can feel it."
"The music is coming along wonderfully, and I cant wait till the day comes that i may perform for one of the producers in this village, I really feel like i can have a shot"
"They loved my music! This is remarkable, I have a test show in a fortnight. I will do my best. Maybe my plans of visiting the other capitals and playing my music can be achieved! Brazil, Spain, France, England, Perhaps even the Eastern countries as well"
She smiled, re-reading all of these memories. She wipes off the tear with the sleeve of her blue, hole-filled, worn out cardigan and in the process looks at the glove again, the pins labeling the capitals and places she wanted to visit at some point. Madrid, Versailles, London. But there were much more pin holes in the more exotic spots: Paris, Rome, Tuscany, Munich, Dublin, Sydney, and every possible place. Her ambitions were limitless, and so was her motivation and drive. But it wasn't enough... another tear rolls down as she continues on reading.
"They didn't like it... they said they liked the music's essence but it needed more flash. My music speaks to the soul, not for the festivities of a common dinner party! And my dress and looks... they were not 'satisfactory'. They ask to change too much"
"They wont give me anything until I've changed. I am not good enough for them. I'll never reach Paris or Rome at this rate... I've taken out those pins. Maybe one day i can put them back on"
"I've changed... and I am not very fond of this new version of me. My hair is shorter, and now black, my dresses shorter and more like that of a waitress at the nearest brothel! And for what! I am still not good enough! I've taken out a few more pins... I need to fix myself a bit more before i can replace them and their hope"
She looks up from the book, tears fill her eyes as she remembers the cruelty of the business that had sought to change her into a plastic doll for the public to fantasize about. Her music had changed from soulful and solemn to more of that of a cabaret. She gently skimmed her hand and fingers over the holes of the missing pins... her missing dreams.
"I am never going to be good enough... they keep changing my music... my look. What have i become. I am not good enough for this home, this study, this piano, this life... I am leaving. And i will never come back."
But she did come back. Thirty-Five years later... she's not twenty anymore. She's aging and ready to die... life has brought her nothing but suffering and feeling of being incomplete.
She grabs the picture one more time, spins the dirty globe and heads towards the piano. She buries it under the floorboards and covers it in dirt. It's not her anymore... and that old self deserves a better death than the moral death that caused her to be a soul-less woman at the age of fifty-five.
The chair of the piano is black and leather, with buttons cross stitched into it. She sits and uncovers the piano. Its beautiful. One of the only things in the room without a layer of dust thanks to the cover. She plays a note, it resonates perfectly, and she smiles. She plays some of her old pieces, but slowly gravitates towards the cabaret versions of the song she had been forced to play, she lost control of what she played many years ago.
"Aahh!" She becomes infuriated. Grabbing the nearest candle and throwing it, the candle lands in the bookshelf and sits there.
She beings to play again... this time... she loses herself. The music pours out, a classical movement that touches the soul and tears away at the despair to leave the open heart needed to be free. She smiles again... and continues to play. The candle falls off the shelf and into a trashcan.... it burns. A fire begins to engulf the book case and then soon... the rest of the room. Flames burning everywhere, the glasses used to hold an old glass of champagne melts and falls over, the papers on the desk dry out and burst into flames... the diary turns red from the head and slowly burns.
But She does not care. Playing her songs, she forgets about the fire surrounding her. She cries harder with the love and passion she once had... and suddenly. It rains. The holes in the room let rain fall and extinguish some of the fire, but its too late. She's already engulfed and burning alive, still playing, still smiling.
The fires die down, leaving a charred body by the burnt piano. She is dead, returning to the ashes... and in those ashes, a flower grows and blooms. The flowers on the table... the lavender and lilies become reanimated... her hair returns to its beautiful auburn color, her lips once again red, her eyes glistening, her face pure and hers again. The diary, opened to the last entry:
"They didn't like it... they said they liked the music's essence but it needed more flash. My music speaks to the soul, not for the festivities of a common dinner party! And my dress and looks... they were not 'satisfactory'. They ask to change too much" with the new addition of "But they wont get it".
A Man, Sam one of her best friends, burst into the room seeing the scene from outside:
"Sarah! Sarah! Are you alright?"
Sarah rolls over...her hair partially covering her face. She gently moves the wavy segments of hair out of her eyes, smiles and says:
"Good Enough"