(no subject)
Title: Mozart Was Crazy
Author: thatsamesadsong || destinedtofly
Fandom: Original
Character(s): Jude Molloy
Prompt: None
Word Count: 653
Rating: G
Warnings/Spoilers: None.
Notes: This is just a little character exploration, of the first manifestation of Jude's ability, that kind of hit suddenly. The lyrics are "Everything Else" from Next To Normal.
Summary: His music's not crazy; it's balanced, it's nimble - it's crystalline clear . . .
His music's not crazy;
it's balanced, it's nimble -
It's crystalline clear.
There's harmony, logic -
you listen to these.
You don't hear his doubts,
or his debts, or disease . . .
The tinkling of piano keys break the silence of the high school music room. It is four in the afternoon, and the building been deserted for an hour, school long since adjourned, students catching rides or buses to go home. It is the Friday before Thanksgiving break, and for the next week school will be the farthest thing from the minds of the district's students, regardless of age or grade. It is a time of family and fun for all involved, and school is left behind by all students in favor of rest and relaxation.
Well, all but one. He is quiet save for the piano, his mind a whirl as he works. His mind is buzzing, too busy to even try and catch up with his fingers as a singular thought pervades his existence: it has to be finished. No matter what, it has to be finished before break, or he will lose it all.
You scan through the score
and put fingers on keys,
and you play.
And everything else goes away . . .
A young, dark head is bent over the keyboard, thin, pale fingers dancing over the light and dark of the keys, coaxing a quiet, minor melody from the instrument. THe sound is soft and melancholy, and altogether familiar, to both the boy and the room around him. It is the same song that he has played every day for the past two months, ever since he first wandered into the music room while waiting on his detention-assigned brother. It has happened every day since, despite having little excuse for why he has to stay after school so often; it is always after the other students have left for their homes and families. It is the same melody he has worked tirelessly to bring to life, to hone and perfect until it is something he can be proud of, deep inside. His fingers are cramping, the knuckles and muscles locking and twisting up beneath his skin from fatigue. He doesn't care; these months have taught him to play through the discomfort. It doesn't matter.
You play til it's perfect,
you play til you ache.
You play til the strings,
or your fingernails, break . . .
It's so close; he can feel it. It's almost where it should be; where it HAS to be. It's almost perfect to his ear, fingers flying over the keys. He isn't even following what notes are played, or how he's moving; it is beyond his control now. He is mindless to his aches, his surroundings, every part of himself that has not been wrapped entirely in the music. There is nothing left but what his fingers, mind, heart, and soul are producing; nothing left of the boy that existed before he sat down at the piano.
You know that it's just a sonata away,
and you play,
and everything else goes away;
everything else goes away . . .
He careens toward a conclusion, an end to it all, completely lost - swallowed up by the behemoth he has unwittingly given way to. With a final, resounding minor chord it ends, dying away, leaving in its wake a ringing silence and the heaving, desperate breathing of its author. As the ringing and emotion finally dies away, claimed by silence once again, it is replaced by something else: fear. Fear of what he has made, of how it has taken so much of him in the process.
Scrambling back off the piano bench, seventeen-year-old Jude Molloy shakily grabs up his bag and runs; runs from the music room he has so long inhabited, and from his destiny.
-FIN-
Author: thatsamesadsong || destinedtofly
Fandom: Original
Character(s): Jude Molloy
Prompt: None
Word Count: 653
Rating: G
Warnings/Spoilers: None.
Notes: This is just a little character exploration, of the first manifestation of Jude's ability, that kind of hit suddenly. The lyrics are "Everything Else" from Next To Normal.
Summary: His music's not crazy; it's balanced, it's nimble - it's crystalline clear . . .
His music's not crazy;
it's balanced, it's nimble -
It's crystalline clear.
There's harmony, logic -
you listen to these.
You don't hear his doubts,
or his debts, or disease . . .
The tinkling of piano keys break the silence of the high school music room. It is four in the afternoon, and the building been deserted for an hour, school long since adjourned, students catching rides or buses to go home. It is the Friday before Thanksgiving break, and for the next week school will be the farthest thing from the minds of the district's students, regardless of age or grade. It is a time of family and fun for all involved, and school is left behind by all students in favor of rest and relaxation.
Well, all but one. He is quiet save for the piano, his mind a whirl as he works. His mind is buzzing, too busy to even try and catch up with his fingers as a singular thought pervades his existence: it has to be finished. No matter what, it has to be finished before break, or he will lose it all.
You scan through the score
and put fingers on keys,
and you play.
And everything else goes away . . .
A young, dark head is bent over the keyboard, thin, pale fingers dancing over the light and dark of the keys, coaxing a quiet, minor melody from the instrument. THe sound is soft and melancholy, and altogether familiar, to both the boy and the room around him. It is the same song that he has played every day for the past two months, ever since he first wandered into the music room while waiting on his detention-assigned brother. It has happened every day since, despite having little excuse for why he has to stay after school so often; it is always after the other students have left for their homes and families. It is the same melody he has worked tirelessly to bring to life, to hone and perfect until it is something he can be proud of, deep inside. His fingers are cramping, the knuckles and muscles locking and twisting up beneath his skin from fatigue. He doesn't care; these months have taught him to play through the discomfort. It doesn't matter.
You play til it's perfect,
you play til you ache.
You play til the strings,
or your fingernails, break . . .
It's so close; he can feel it. It's almost where it should be; where it HAS to be. It's almost perfect to his ear, fingers flying over the keys. He isn't even following what notes are played, or how he's moving; it is beyond his control now. He is mindless to his aches, his surroundings, every part of himself that has not been wrapped entirely in the music. There is nothing left but what his fingers, mind, heart, and soul are producing; nothing left of the boy that existed before he sat down at the piano.
You know that it's just a sonata away,
and you play,
and everything else goes away;
everything else goes away . . .
He careens toward a conclusion, an end to it all, completely lost - swallowed up by the behemoth he has unwittingly given way to. With a final, resounding minor chord it ends, dying away, leaving in its wake a ringing silence and the heaving, desperate breathing of its author. As the ringing and emotion finally dies away, claimed by silence once again, it is replaced by something else: fear. Fear of what he has made, of how it has taken so much of him in the process.
Scrambling back off the piano bench, seventeen-year-old Jude Molloy shakily grabs up his bag and runs; runs from the music room he has so long inhabited, and from his destiny.
-FIN-