Writer's Hangout Prompt 12/12/09
So the Saturday prompt was to write something based off a song. I opened iTunes, put it on shuffle, and wrote about the first song that played. My prompt was Coldplay's Rainy Day, which you can listen to here. (Funny that this song was picked because it is currently raining outside.)
Title: Rainy Day
Author: Me
Rating: G/K
Warning: I basically just stuck with the story embedded in the song, so I don't even know if I can take full credit for this story, hah. I've been on a bit of a writing lull recently; my brain's too fried to come up with anything original just yet. It's also really cheesy and romantic; -shrug- I'm on a bit of a cheese splurge lately so let me be!
Rainy days were their favorites. It was currently 32 degrees Fahrenheit and outside the sky was gray, a thin mist covering the green, rolling hills.
All he could think about was her.
He smiled to himself and sat down at the piano, placing a well worn sheet of music on the ledge. Its corners were bent and the edges a brownish-yellow color from so much use.
This song was one he knew well, and he closed his eyes as he placed his fingers on the smooth, cool ivory and ebony keys. There was no need to have the sheet music in front of him but it made him feel better knowing it was there. Music in his own handwriting, a song he had composed some ten years ago.
The only song he'd ever composed.
Her song.
He titled his head back and let the music flow through him until he felt like he was floating in a world of colorful fog of brilliant yellows and lurid reds and shocking oranges. Soon there was an eruption of sounds and chords and beauty, the rain pounding on the windows outside acting as the percussion, keeping perfect, rhythmic time.
He played over and over again, never letting silence settle over the small, comfortable house. As long as he played, she would come to him.
"We're separated now, and I'm down, but I love it when you come over to my house. I love it when you come over to my house."
The words resounded in the air and mixed with the pulsating beat and the chords he played. Soon there was the heavy footstep of boots coming up the stairs followed by a terse, light knock.
The music didn't stop and he didn't move from the piano. Instead, his fingers continued to fly over the keys and the room continued to writhe with color and sound. There was the creak of the door as it opened and he turned his head slightly to the left just in time to see her long, lean figure standing in the doorway.
The smile that painted his face just then was the same one she once claimed she would die for.
"I love it when you come over to my house," he sang to her. "I love it when you come over to my house."