A Note, A Journey

He stood in the center of the stage. The theatre was empty. The whole room silent as he looked, not at the hundreds of seats, the majestic sweeping balcony, or the beautiful chandilers. He looked across time, to the path of his life, the journey he had taken thus far. His soft footfalls still rang in the deep silence of the deserted theatre. He kneeled down, the joints in his knees popping off like dual shotguns. The releasing of the catches on the violin case were loud, echoing in the vast room. He took the violin out slowly, with great and tender care. An old friend it was. The wood was dark, polished to give off the soft whorls of the grain. His inital carved beautifully upon the tailpiece. Soft silver and mother of pearl shined mellowly from accents over it. He walked to the center of the stage. The dim footlights were on, the rest of the theatre dark. But he needed no light, the music was written in his mind and imprinted on his soul. He closed his eyes and began to play. A soft note began, all by itself. Soft, yet strong, resonating. Then, slowly, the note developed into others, a melody, a harmony, a descent, a river of emotion beyond word, beyond description. Clear, cool tears dropped down his face. Each one shining in the dim light like jewels. The song flew on, a story, a ballad, an odessy. That single note still throughout the whole song, no matter the melody, the others notes. That single note remained. None other beside it for long. Finally the song dropped down to near silence. A single note remained in the air. The same note than began the song. Alone, resonating. The note dissapaited into silence and the last tear dropped to the ground. And there stood an empty stage. The footlights still glowed soft and mellow.

Tenchi