The Music With Nothing Playing

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A woman helps out her friend be happy again but shes left with all the heaviness and afterthoughts of concern after. Its based off of the heavy sadness felt after a friend tells all the heavy baggage they carry in their hearts. Its that feeling of "oh my god, you definitely dont deserve any of that and i wish i could give you the so sorry"

Submitted: July 19, 2016

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Submitted: July 19, 2016



She sat in her silky black dress that flowed on her body. She crossed her legs, her black heeled foot passing the other. Her red lips parted revealing white teeth in a gorgeous smile. “Oh, this is going to be lovely.”

He looked at her, pushing up his slipping glasses. His suit was adequate but nothing like the whiplash of hers. He sighed a heavy sigh that felt almost displaced in a beautiful event like this.

The concert hall was full, buzzing with excitement. Finally, the lights around them dimmed and the voices hushed. The orchestra entered, wearing elegant black suits.

“They aren't carrying their instruments,” he observed. She looked at him, displaying the smallest smile. “That isn't a problem.”

A musician with a tight bun sat in front of the rest of the orchestra. They stretched out their arms before positioning them in a peculiar position with the bend of their head. The director signaled and the musician began to play a violin that failed to be present. Seconds later, the rest of the orchestra began to play their figurative instruments. No music came.

The woman breathed in like the experience had given her a piece of life. Her friend, staring, could not articulate what occurred. “I hear nothing,” he would say, “they aren't playing anything.” The woman could not hear him, however, for her eyes were fixated on the orchestra.

The concert lasted nearly two hours, ending with a roar of an applause. After exiting the hall, she noticed his irritation and bewilderment. “What is wrong,” she asked. Her friend looked at the ground, avoiding her gaze. His hands hid themselves comfortably in his pockets. “Look, I appreciate coming here for the night, but...there was only silence. It was not as enjoyable as i had hoped.” The woman's eyes filled with pity and sorrow as her shoulders drooped slowly.

“You don't hear it…” she said, her heart aching for him. He replied after pursing his lips, “No, guess not.” He fixed his gray tie, not knowing anything better to do.

The woman stared down, pensively, biting her lip. From her purse she grabs a pen and writes on the back of the brochure these simple instructions: Meet me at the park at 11. Don't change clothes.

Not another word is exchanged as she leaves.

At 11, he entered the isolated spot he would meet his friend at the park. There were 3 rows of chairs, all side by side. There, in front, stood she, patiently waiting for him. Lit candles gave light to show small white decorative banners and beautiful flowers. He sat down in the middle, looking up at her in bewildering astonishment. “You are my friend and i love you….you know that?” she asked. He nodded. “Then you know that you are a piece of i am a piece of you.” She held the side of his face with a sad smile placed on her own.

“The world is full of color, and yet you wait for these glasses to show you that.” Removing his glasses, her vision is blurred. She applies the glasses and her vision is restored.

“The present is sweet, and yet you let the past make it taste so bitter.” She kisses her fingers, only to place them on his lips. Her red lipstick is no longer as dark and her fingers are stained.

“The brain can tell the soul sweet poems all its life, and yet you've found all the insults.” The woman ran her fingers gently through his hair. His eyes closed at her touch. His lip quivered slightly. He took a deep breath.

"The world tells you to accept the love you deserve, and so you believed you didn't deserve much.” With that, the woman’s tears began to run down her cheeks. She hugged the man tightly. She wanted nothing more than her friend to be delighted once more. He took in the moment, hugging her back. He could smell her perfume, feel her skin, sense the safety. He no longer felt like a stranger on the outside of the world's window looking in. She stood up, wiping the tears away with a smile and began to walk a few steps back. “And now,” she began, “your concert.”

She stretched out her arms before positioning them in a peculiar position with the bend of their head. At the third tap of her foot, she began to play a violin that failed to be present. The music ringed beautifully in his ears. His breath has seemed to have been taken away. He stared adoringly at his friend, who, to the best of her ability, was performing a musical concert like no other. At the end of the performance, he applauds, tears running down his face. A smile that had been lost for so long found its place and could not be faltered once again. He thanks her, giving her one final big hug, before running to go experience the life he had forgotten to be grateful for.

She stood, alone in the park. Her smile faded as he disappeared in the distance. Sighing, she began to clean up the concert setup she had made. She felt ache for him still, like she could feel the pieces of herself given stinging like fresh wounds. She felt sorry he'd ever felt empty in the first place. Dropping a chair, her finger got scratched. Her gray nailpolish had been chipped. Had she forgotten to paint them? She swore she wanted to paint them white tonight. She proceeded to pick up the chair and smiled sadly.

Life gives you music with nothing playing, but love? That's a rhythm you'll hear like no other.

© Copyright 2018 Sammyish. All rights reserved.

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