Old Story, A Familiar Figure
I wrote this story a while ago and recently remembered that I based one of the characters in this episode of what was a series I'd been writing at the time off of Andrew McMahon of Something Corporate/Jack's Mannequin. While the character himself is not Andrew, in creating this character I did think of what Andrew may have been like in his high school years. Anyway, it's an interesting story when you take those things into account.
Dozens upon dozens of thoughts raced through Ruth's head as she fought through the crowds of students in the hall to get to her next class. Why was she even bothering this much anymore? It didn't matter. School would end soon, and then where could she go? What could she do? It wasn't really worth it. Was it?
She ran past open doors, dodging them. She flew down the stairs, stopping dead in her rushed tracks when she heard something. She guessed it was music, but she couldn't be sure. It sounded like someone had taken to bludgeoning a piano. She found herself in the doorway to the band room, and saw a lone figure at the upright situated in the corner. The thing was so old, it was a wonder that someone hadn't junked the thing yet.
The pounding continued, the figure hunched over the keys, leaning into the board, looking what seemed to be too full of some kind of emotion to simply sit at the bench.
"Um...hello?" Ruth ventured, stepping a little closer to the piano. The banging didn't stop, and she found an odd beauty in the discord and dissonance of the tones. It was a strangled music, but it was a seeming truth to whoever it was that was making it.
She reached the bench, finding a young man at the keyboard, his fingers tensed yet fluid as they set fire to the ivories. She reached out, and touched his arm, not sure what made her do it.
Green eyes shot up to lock on hers, a look of startlement as though from just being shaken awake in them. The music halted.
"I-I'm sorry. I just wanted to know who was making all that...music."
"Oh...I wouldn't really call it music, I guess. Music's for the talented kids in the band. I just creep in here when I can. The band director doesn't seem to mind, since this thing's obviously seen better days." He patted the sideboard of the piano. "No, I guess I'd call it my poetry."
"Oh, okay." The smile that had begun to form on Ruth's lips faded, and she later found herself again outside the band room, not sure why she'd left, but not wanting to return there.
Dozens upon dozens of thoughts raced through Ruth's head as she fought through the crowds of students in the hall to get to her next class. Why was she even bothering this much anymore? It didn't matter. School would end soon, and then where could she go? What could she do? It wasn't really worth it. Was it?
She ran past open doors, dodging them. She flew down the stairs, stopping dead in her rushed tracks when she heard something. She guessed it was music, but she couldn't be sure. It sounded like someone had taken to bludgeoning a piano. She found herself in the doorway to the band room, and saw a lone figure at the upright situated in the corner. The thing was so old, it was a wonder that someone hadn't junked the thing yet.
The pounding continued, the figure hunched over the keys, leaning into the board, looking what seemed to be too full of some kind of emotion to simply sit at the bench.
"Um...hello?" Ruth ventured, stepping a little closer to the piano. The banging didn't stop, and she found an odd beauty in the discord and dissonance of the tones. It was a strangled music, but it was a seeming truth to whoever it was that was making it.
She reached the bench, finding a young man at the keyboard, his fingers tensed yet fluid as they set fire to the ivories. She reached out, and touched his arm, not sure what made her do it.
Green eyes shot up to lock on hers, a look of startlement as though from just being shaken awake in them. The music halted.
"I-I'm sorry. I just wanted to know who was making all that...music."
"Oh...I wouldn't really call it music, I guess. Music's for the talented kids in the band. I just creep in here when I can. The band director doesn't seem to mind, since this thing's obviously seen better days." He patted the sideboard of the piano. "No, I guess I'd call it my poetry."
"Oh, okay." The smile that had begun to form on Ruth's lips faded, and she later found herself again outside the band room, not sure why she'd left, but not wanting to return there.