Placed in Stories
This is a work of fiction. I was listening to Moonlight Sonata and it just....came. So I hope you enjoy it.
I don’t know what brought me to visit the old burned out shell of a warehouse that day, but it changed my life more than I can even begin to tell you.
But when I reached the deteriorating structure, I only vaguely remembered getting there. For a moment I puzzled over why I was there, however, the moment I heard strains of the most heartbreakingly beautiful music drifting from one of the back rooms, I knew. I began to shake and fear urged me to run, but the soft melody pulled me in closer and closer as if the notes themselves were animating my body. When I saw him, something inside me broke, and tears began sliding down my face. Though I had never seen him before in my life, he was dear to me; the exotic refrain resonating from the oddly preserved grand piano he sat at washed through my being, making me feel as if I’d known him my whole life; that beautiful street urchin.
I stood there in complete silence as the last measure dissolved into the dusty air, tears dried on my face, watching him in hushed, sorrowful awe.
Suddenly, he looked up and noticed me, shock and embarrassment frozen on his face. He cautiously moved towards me, one hand reaching up to my face, as if he were about to brush my tears away. He looked to be about nine years old, ash and dried blood caked on his face and matted in his hair. But his hands were clean, as if he hated the thought of dirtying those beautiful white keys he had been lovingly caressing just moments before. I also noticed his eyes; shockingly green with flecks of gold and royal blue.
“What is your name?” I whispered huskily.
“I don’t have one,” he answered listlessly, casting his eyes downward.
Without another word, I kneeled and wrapped my arms around his tiny body, letting my tears flow silently again.
“Hush,” he breathed, stroking my hair, “it will be all right.”
We stayed like that for a very long time, and when the sun began sinking behind the crumbling buildings, turning the sky scarlet, we spoke again.
“Where did you learn to play?”
“Nowhere. I can’t read music,” he said simply, in a tone befitting a much older person.
“How do you get your songs?”
“From my head….they’re there. Always playing.”
“You mean you made up that song?”
“Yes. In a way. You see, I AM my songs. They’re all I know.”
I couldn’t answer. There wasn’t anything I could say. It was if all my words, my entire self, was gone. Absorbed by his aura.
I pulled away from him, staring deeply into his vast enveloping eyes when he began to evaporate. Somehow I knew it would happen and I could tell he always had.
He smiled sadly and placed his tiny warm hand on my face, closing his eyes. A pain shot through me for a moment before it numbed and eventually faded, but I could tell there was something different. There was music drifting through my head, echoing off everything; his songs.
Even now I hear them; all of them, ceaselessly. Sometimes there are new ones. He’s there somewhere, in my head. I dream about him occasionally. But he never sees me. He just sits there at his piano, playing away. And I always wake up crying. Every time I wander the streets I can’t help but check the faces of all the little boys that pass, even though I know he’s not in the world anymore. When I asked him, he didn’t know who he was, but now I do. He was every unwritten song since the beginning of time.
Jun. 1, 2009
Thought Provoking...
Placed in Stories
The Room by Joshua Harris
In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endlessly in either direction, had very different headings.
As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "Girls I Have Liked." I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one.
And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match.
A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I Have Betrayed".
The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. "Books I Have Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I Have Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed At." Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've Yelled At My Brothers." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done In My Anger," "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath At My Parents." I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped.
I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to write each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.
When I pulled out the file marked "Songs I Have Listened To," I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of music, but more by the vast amount of time I knew that file represented. When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded.
An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: "No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't mattered now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it.
Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh. And then I saw it. The title bore "People I Have Shared the Gospel With." The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.
And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that the hurt started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key. But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus.
I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one?
Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.
Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card.
"No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was "No, no," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished!"
I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written.
Apr. 29, 2009
An update that took [] to finish!
I think I shall tell you all a bit about what has been going on in my life these past several months.
I am a high school student, and am really bad about getting assignments done on time. Yes, I am homeschooled, but I'm in a co-op, which assigns mountains of homework for me to accompish. And I am always too lazy to do it. At least when it comes to Biology and Writing. I like doing things on my own time, but in a co-op, I have a time limit, at which I fail. In fact, it may take me a very long time indeed to finish this post, if I finish it at all. [Just now, I was looking for a little icon to put spaceing between the lines, but they don't have one. Thought you would all want to know that.]
It is April 29th, 4:52pm, and I am now going to click "Save As Draft" so that I can get ready to go to play practice. Let us see when I get back to this post, eh?
Apr. 14, 2009
My father is an amazing man.
Placed in Stories
Once, many years ago, long before I was born, my father met this group of teenagers who belived in evolution. My father took off his watch and said, "see this watch? This is no ordinary watch. I found this inside a geode. You know what a geode is, right? It's a rock that looks ordindary on the outside, but when you break it open there's crystals. And I found this watch inside one!" He passed it around, and they looked at it in awe. When it got back to him, he continued, "it must have evolved in there! Look, it even has words on it. English words! It says TimeX." Then the kids started to catch on, "oh, you're just messing with us!"
"Why?" he asked sternly, "why do you think that? One cell in your body is far more complex than this watch is. You belive that you evolved from mud or whatever, and yet you can't belive that this watch evolved inside a geode." And as he put his watch back on, the teenagers managed to splutter, "th-that's different!"
Is it? Is there a difference? I don't think so. Do you?
Feb. 11, 2009
Childhood games.
Placed in Stories
When I was younger, I would go to my cousin's house every Sunday afternoon, and play games. These games consisted mainly of dressing up as beautiful princesses, locked in a tower by their evil step-uncle Ichabod. And in these games, we would play multiple parts....Count Ichabod, Countess Gizzel, Fair Prince Ferdinand, Handsome Sailor Conrad, random servants, and of course, the two princesses. We pulled this off, by jumping to random places in the room, where we supposed on of the other characters was standing, and changing our voices to match who we had just become. Countess Gizzel's voice was high pitched, and whining, Count Ichabod's was deeper, and nasally, Prince Ferdinand and Captain Conrad's voices were variations on deep, manly voices, done by Justyne or myself. Though, we could never pull this off with straight faces.
Another game we liked to play, was one in which we ourselves were sailors, fighters, and explorers. Of course, our epic battles with newspaper swords, consisted of much leaping around, and causing the intire house to shake, worrying us that we might fall through the floor, into the kitchen. So we made up this song. (To the tune of "Shall we Dance" from The King and I)
Shhaaaallllll weeeee DANCE? Dun dun dun
Onna BRRRIGHT cloud of moonlight shall we GLIDE? Dun dun dun
Shall we CRASH through the floooor, like a couple of bozos,
and shall we make fools of ourselves? Dun dun dun
Or perchance...dun dun dun
Shall we go to the kitchen for a snack? Dun dun dun
We can take the shortcut and go right through the floor and be there in two seeeconds
FLAT.
Remember, this was before we were into double digits....It sure was fun though!
