Hehehe... oops... Here you go!
I totally forgot this was here... sorry about that. I forgot that I had this and only remembered when I wanted to share a story with one of my friends and was too lazy to send the file via email. I actually have been on a writing hiatus for a while, since I royally screwed up my wrist (sad!!) but am finally getting back in to the swing of things. I don't have anything resembling complete, but a few short stories that I'm currently working on. Here's some teasers, if you're interested.
Bit of background for the first one... 1. I miss music. I haven't been able to play since mid May and its slowly killing me. so I've been listening to a lot of music and writing about it a lot. 2. I wish I could dance. End of story..
The Musician and the Dancer
The musician watched the dancers as they moved to his music. He kept his face impassive continuing to breathe smoothly, but inside he was yearning to join them. The way their feet laid out the beat for him, their bodies flowed from one phrase to the next; they wrote the music in his heart. Day in and day out he played his whistle for them for them, and each passing day he grew to know each of them in a more intimate manner than they knew themselves. The musician knew their personalities and quirks and the depths of their spirits. All of this, from watching them, learning from them, guiding them through music.
The musician brought his song to a sweet, gentle end and they, as responsive as always, ended perfectly with him, striking poses that suggested any number of the emotions coursing through him. The troupe leader gave him the silent nod and slight smile that meant the musician had done well again, breaking the spell. The musician lowered his eyes in deference as the troupe relaxed. When he looked up the troupe leader’s congratulatory gaze had moved on to other members.
The musician sighed, and began cleaning his low whistle. The instrument was his pride and joy. The wood was new and stained dark to preserve the quality and rich sound that defined the musician’s music. When he chanced to look up from his cleaning, the musician found one of the dancers staring at him, her face one of interest and consideration. The musician waved at her, breaking the intenseness of her stare. She turned away, trying to hide a blush as she hurried off after the rest of the troupe. He smiled to himself. She was the quiet, timid girl, always unsure of herself and always striving to please others. The musician rose and headed after her, wincing slightly at his own ungainly limping. Being surrounded by the beautiful and graceful dancers sometimes allowed him to forget about his leg, but more often than not, it made him wish he had not so severely injured himself when he was younger. He longed to dance as one of them and not be limited by his own physique.
The dancer was practicing one of the most challenging steps when the musician finally found her. He watched her silently from a slight distance, not wanting to break her concentration by interrupting her practice. She was a fine, young woman, he thought to himself. Graceful, powerful, yet humble and kind. The dancer carried with her the soft strength developed from years of hard work and practice on her routines. There was a definite familiarity that she had with the individual steps that blended with the thrill of each new and individual dance that she learned. The musician was delighted in her knowledge of dance, comfort in the steps, but noted the vulnerability in each changing movement. Her dance had a certain fluidity to it; where one movement ended, another began to create an almost constant motion that floated along with the music. She spun around with a slight flourish and suddenly lost her balance, toppling over with a surprised cry. The musician dashed out to help her up. Her eyes went wide when she realized that he had been watching her practice and her earlier blush returned.
“You took the turn too fast,” he said, setting her back on her feet. “Try again. Keep the rhythm in your head.” The musician took a step back.
The dancer closed her eyes and almost immediately her head started bobbing to a beat only she could hear. She started slow then gradually sped up to where she needed to be, her movements again becoming fluid, one thing flowing into the next. Her turn was flawless, the steps perfect, and a satisfied smile spread across her lips as she continued to move.
Bit of background for the first one... 1. I miss music. I haven't been able to play since mid May and its slowly killing me. so I've been listening to a lot of music and writing about it a lot. 2. I wish I could dance. End of story..
The Musician and the Dancer
The musician watched the dancers as they moved to his music. He kept his face impassive continuing to breathe smoothly, but inside he was yearning to join them. The way their feet laid out the beat for him, their bodies flowed from one phrase to the next; they wrote the music in his heart. Day in and day out he played his whistle for them for them, and each passing day he grew to know each of them in a more intimate manner than they knew themselves. The musician knew their personalities and quirks and the depths of their spirits. All of this, from watching them, learning from them, guiding them through music.
The musician brought his song to a sweet, gentle end and they, as responsive as always, ended perfectly with him, striking poses that suggested any number of the emotions coursing through him. The troupe leader gave him the silent nod and slight smile that meant the musician had done well again, breaking the spell. The musician lowered his eyes in deference as the troupe relaxed. When he looked up the troupe leader’s congratulatory gaze had moved on to other members.
The musician sighed, and began cleaning his low whistle. The instrument was his pride and joy. The wood was new and stained dark to preserve the quality and rich sound that defined the musician’s music. When he chanced to look up from his cleaning, the musician found one of the dancers staring at him, her face one of interest and consideration. The musician waved at her, breaking the intenseness of her stare. She turned away, trying to hide a blush as she hurried off after the rest of the troupe. He smiled to himself. She was the quiet, timid girl, always unsure of herself and always striving to please others. The musician rose and headed after her, wincing slightly at his own ungainly limping. Being surrounded by the beautiful and graceful dancers sometimes allowed him to forget about his leg, but more often than not, it made him wish he had not so severely injured himself when he was younger. He longed to dance as one of them and not be limited by his own physique.
The dancer was practicing one of the most challenging steps when the musician finally found her. He watched her silently from a slight distance, not wanting to break her concentration by interrupting her practice. She was a fine, young woman, he thought to himself. Graceful, powerful, yet humble and kind. The dancer carried with her the soft strength developed from years of hard work and practice on her routines. There was a definite familiarity that she had with the individual steps that blended with the thrill of each new and individual dance that she learned. The musician was delighted in her knowledge of dance, comfort in the steps, but noted the vulnerability in each changing movement. Her dance had a certain fluidity to it; where one movement ended, another began to create an almost constant motion that floated along with the music. She spun around with a slight flourish and suddenly lost her balance, toppling over with a surprised cry. The musician dashed out to help her up. Her eyes went wide when she realized that he had been watching her practice and her earlier blush returned.
“You took the turn too fast,” he said, setting her back on her feet. “Try again. Keep the rhythm in your head.” The musician took a step back.
The dancer closed her eyes and almost immediately her head started bobbing to a beat only she could hear. She started slow then gradually sped up to where she needed to be, her movements again becoming fluid, one thing flowing into the next. Her turn was flawless, the steps perfect, and a satisfied smile spread across her lips as she continued to move.