Kirsten
November 27th, 2005, 05:52 AM
The metronome stopped.
Silence bled forth from what had been vibrant, imperishable sound. The quiet clung to everything, damp and pasty, heavy and deep. Awash with stillness, all echoes and vibrations ceased. Drained of sound, the room lay dead.
From the hallway, came the shuffle of weary, aged footsteps. The hobbled movements faltered at the entrance to the room. Wrinkled hands cleaned themselves within the soiled folds of an apron, as a wizened face peered inward. Outside the great bay window shone a brilliant sunset. Inside, the eventide glare blinded more efficiently than darkness. Grey-lashed eyes squinted before it. "Why did you stop playing, Stephania?"
Seated in the middle of the room, a statuesque form in silhouette exhaled an audible breath. Youthful hands squeezed tight an antique reed instrument, then loosened their grip to cradle it gently. "Oh, your time keeper has stopped. Let me reset it."
The sculpted, shadowed head looked towards the voice at the edge of the room but could see only the instrument, gleaming with highlights of gold, and the window, blurred and burning with light. "No. No, Mama, that's all right. But thank you."
"Will you play again? I was listening from the kitchen, and it was beautiful. Oh, Stephania! Like an angel, you play! Like an angel come down to bless us with her song."
"Thank you, Mama."
"Will you play now?"
"No. I'm sorry. I'm finished."
"Oh, I see. You're finished."
The shuffling footsteps retreated slowly back the way they had come. Whispered words of praise and sadness wafted through the air, then dwindled with distance to a murmur. As they faded, the room sank again into silence. Soon, it was drowned in quiet.
Turning to face the stilled metronome, the sculpted head drooped and shook from side to side. The hands tightened around and lifted the instrument they held. The head turned back, the eyes closed, and with a sigh, the lips prepared to impart a kiss upon the reed.
Something within the room eclipsed the sun.
"Why do you begin to play, Stephania?"
The beatific voice spoke softly, only barely broaching the silence. The form that birthed it blocked all light from the window. In this true darkness, the once gilded antique, clutched in trembling hands, muted to rust.
"Your measured time is done. You may have no more."
The voice hardened, though it grew no louder. Around it, the shadows deepened.
"No! No, that can't be all. Please."
"Would you renege? I have given all that you asked for, Stephania, and you must now show good faith in return. You have played like a goddess. Like a goddess high above, you have blessed those beneath you with your gift."
"Please."
"Will you come now?"
"No. I don't want to. I'm not ready!"
"Ah, you're not ready. You are, nonetheless, finished."
A sound that had not the strength to be a scream followed the unfurling of things massive and dark. The utterance withered into a mournful wail and endured just longer than a rapid pounding of air that shook the room. Then, amidst twilight and death, silence teemed outward to encompass all.
The metronome ticked.
Silence bled forth from what had been vibrant, imperishable sound. The quiet clung to everything, damp and pasty, heavy and deep. Awash with stillness, all echoes and vibrations ceased. Drained of sound, the room lay dead.
From the hallway, came the shuffle of weary, aged footsteps. The hobbled movements faltered at the entrance to the room. Wrinkled hands cleaned themselves within the soiled folds of an apron, as a wizened face peered inward. Outside the great bay window shone a brilliant sunset. Inside, the eventide glare blinded more efficiently than darkness. Grey-lashed eyes squinted before it. "Why did you stop playing, Stephania?"
Seated in the middle of the room, a statuesque form in silhouette exhaled an audible breath. Youthful hands squeezed tight an antique reed instrument, then loosened their grip to cradle it gently. "Oh, your time keeper has stopped. Let me reset it."
The sculpted, shadowed head looked towards the voice at the edge of the room but could see only the instrument, gleaming with highlights of gold, and the window, blurred and burning with light. "No. No, Mama, that's all right. But thank you."
"Will you play again? I was listening from the kitchen, and it was beautiful. Oh, Stephania! Like an angel, you play! Like an angel come down to bless us with her song."
"Thank you, Mama."
"Will you play now?"
"No. I'm sorry. I'm finished."
"Oh, I see. You're finished."
The shuffling footsteps retreated slowly back the way they had come. Whispered words of praise and sadness wafted through the air, then dwindled with distance to a murmur. As they faded, the room sank again into silence. Soon, it was drowned in quiet.
Turning to face the stilled metronome, the sculpted head drooped and shook from side to side. The hands tightened around and lifted the instrument they held. The head turned back, the eyes closed, and with a sigh, the lips prepared to impart a kiss upon the reed.
Something within the room eclipsed the sun.
"Why do you begin to play, Stephania?"
The beatific voice spoke softly, only barely broaching the silence. The form that birthed it blocked all light from the window. In this true darkness, the once gilded antique, clutched in trembling hands, muted to rust.
"Your measured time is done. You may have no more."
The voice hardened, though it grew no louder. Around it, the shadows deepened.
"No! No, that can't be all. Please."
"Would you renege? I have given all that you asked for, Stephania, and you must now show good faith in return. You have played like a goddess. Like a goddess high above, you have blessed those beneath you with your gift."
"Please."
"Will you come now?"
"No. I don't want to. I'm not ready!"
"Ah, you're not ready. You are, nonetheless, finished."
A sound that had not the strength to be a scream followed the unfurling of things massive and dark. The utterance withered into a mournful wail and endured just longer than a rapid pounding of air that shook the room. Then, amidst twilight and death, silence teemed outward to encompass all.
The metronome ticked.