Good morning! Today I will be participating in the Create-A-Story Tag that was created by Leap, Keiko, and The Pantless Anime Blogger (they tagged me, woot). When I was initially tagged to do this, I’m pretty sure my heart fell straight into my stomach. While I am an aspiring author, I have never shared any of my writing on a public platform before, so the idea of having to do so for this tag (even though it is quite chill) fucking terrified me. However, now that I have managed to actually write a short story, I feel accomplished and extremely grateful for the tag. So, thank you so much for including me in this!
You can check out the Create-A-Story Tag Announcement here for more information and a flushed out explanation of the rules, and then also make sure to check out TPAB’s Tag: Music + Hospital +Drama post. The rules are pretty simple, which I will be sharing down below along with the folks that I shall be tagging.
I hope you enjoy my story. Thanks.
- You pick your first word, your setting, and your story genre from the list below. As individuals, your brand of creativity is unique to yours, so we want to highlight that by letting you choose from a bunch of words and creating something beautiful out of it.
- The short story will have a limit of 1000 words. You do not need to write a story with 1000 words exactly. It could be 300, or 500 as long as it doesn’t surpass a thousand.
- YOU HAVE TWO WEEKS TO ANSWER THE TAG.
- You must tag three people to participate.
- Don’t forget to link back to Keiko (use her latest post for now) so she can collect all the stories. You can’t just link back to her WordPress, since she won’t be alerted of the pingback. You need to link back to a post or a page, because WordPress works like this.
- Use the Create-A-Story picture in the post.
- Copy and paste the rules in your tag post as well, so others can be clued in to the Create-A-Story rules.
People I’m Tagging:
Rose: She’s a really wonderful person and she is quite insightful as well, especially when she’s watching and/or reading. I would love to see her take on a short story as I think it would be quite wonderful.
Sam: Sam’s just an amazing individual who writes posts that are very contemplative, especially with regards to themes and relationships, which makes me believe that they’d be an amazing story-writer.
Arthifis: Another brilliant blogger with marvellous writing capabilities. Arthifis is excellent when it comes to focusing on details and the little things that work together to make a story work, no matter the medium.
Music + Sea + Tragedy
Music has always been our solace, a means of an escape from the harsh reality that we face day in and day out. An exhalation of notes upon the oboe, a dip-and-caress of black and white on a pianoforte, or the tug-and-pull of a delicate bow upon strings—they have nourished us and comforted us through the darkest of days and coldest of contemplations. I can close my eyes now and feel the harmonising calm that ensues from playing music with you. It’s almost as if the notes are fleeing the confines of my memory to embrace me with their warmth in the midst of this loss that I now face, a loss I am expected to accept as truth.
Yet, I cannot.
Gazing upon the horizon at the edge of the world, beyond the melancholic blue of the ocean, I walk slowly amid the shoreline. I hold the bow in one hand and my favoured violin in another, looking out at the sun as it rises, realising that we will never see another sunrise or sunset together again; that our home by the sea will become naught evermore. The icy water laps ferociously around my ankles and shins while my toes seek refuge from the sands, as if pleading for me to turn back, to stop, to live on.
Yet, I cannot.
Reaching the coldest part of my trek, I stop and turn my body to face the golden greeting of a new dawn. Raising the violin, I rest her upon my shoulder, position the bow tenderly upon the strings, and drink in the salty air deep into my lungs. When my eyes burn from the sting of the wind and the grief, I allow my lids to shelter them. Exhaling into the breeze, allowing these final breaths to be swept away into oblivion, I cock my elbow and begin my symphony.
The pads of my left fingers adjust to the tune, dancing a taut to-and-fro as the bow in my right hand slides up and down, higher and lower, singing out the melody of loss that my heart is otherwise incapable of believing. A tornado of emotions begins to come alive within the poisoned grottos of my flesh. Sadness waltzes with grief as anger and frustration foxtrot with a swirl, rising one step closer to the surface again and again. Meanwhile, the wind viciously whips my long, loose tresses around my face, beating my agony into the very skin that longs for the warmth of yours. The sea lurches past her boundary of reprieve to smash further upon my legs, beckoning me to her. So unbearably lost in images of you—your smile, your stunning emerald stare, your long disarrayed ebon hair, the tears you shed as you masterfully play pianoforte—I do not see that I am being pulled asunder. My body wavers as the golden welcome of the horizon mutates into an ugly grey of yearning and mourning, churning with the water and screaming with the oceanic air for me to simply let go.
Yet, I cannot.
Shutting my eyes even tighter, feeling its ache searing through my temples and shrouding my lids, I focus intently on this violin. Focusing on the missing parts of our duet, the lush sounds of the piano accompaniment that completes this lonely song of sorrow, all I wish for is to pay tribute to the only person who has ever made me feel alive. Made me feel relevant. Made me understand that life is bearable when you are not alone. Now that my companionship has so cruelly been stolen from me, captured in the night, suffocated, and buried, this is all I have left. Music. Our music. Our solace, our speak, our bond. Relenting now would be admitting defeat, would be complying that you are gone and forcing myself forward. Yet, I cannot, not until the last note has been played…
Approaching my crescendo, I shiver intolerably. Every organ within my body burns with unfathomable suffering as another dip, another plunge, another taut press, and yet another release of fingertips plunges me nearer and nearer to… this… final… note…
My hand naturally disembarks bow from violin in a twisted sense of relief. Tears wash down my tortured cheeks to my dry and cracked lips. My arms fall to my sides as my knees buckle beneath me. With a roar of defiance and determination, the wave comes for me. Magnificent and intimidating, she yanks the instruments from my hands and crashes against my face, baptising me of this brutal burden of burning despair. When she retreats, I finally open my eyes and look out at the blackening horizon. Smiling at the omen of death, I breathe into my lungs one last gasp of life, and with it my acceptance. This time when the sea returns for me, I do not resist.