灰色の雨
This is just something I wrote a long time ago. In November actually. It's based around the piece Cristofori's Dream by David Lanz
Rain pouring. Drops glistening against my skin. I feel. Thunder booms. Lightning strikes the ground. My senses tingle with the essence of the earth. I hardly notice the cold in the air. I love the rain. I can hide in its shadows. The world is hidden from me.
I go through my days in an endless cycle. I do not speak. No one would listen if I tried. I do not understand people. I don’t intend to try now.
I walk to school. I listen to the crunch of dead leaves under my feet. Silence. Beauty undisturbed. Purity untouched. People grow closer. Mindless chatter fills the air. The good feeling is shattered. Ignoring them, I place a set of headphones in my ears and let the music from my iPod wash over me. The gentle piano plays me a lullaby of peace. I am safe. The name of the piece is Cristofori’s Dream. The dream must have been a bittersweet one. The melody is heartbreakingly delicate. As if Cristofori’s reverie is one easily broken.
What did he dream about?
Longing? Lost love? Life? The music grows stronger. As if his dream is growing close to reality. Then suddenly, it is shattered. The melancholy returns.
I arrive at the school. I used to have friends. I doubt I would recognize them any more. I do not see faces. Only blank stares. I cannot remember them either.
Except for one.
I sit on a bench. Outside the air is frigid, what people call cold. A misconception. That is not cold. Cold is a feeling internal.
I remember a time when someone wrapped their arms around me. Protecting me from the cold, internal and external. Soft, tender, yet strong. I was safe in them.
The bell rings.
The memory fades. I go to my first class, barely paying attention. I already know the lesson. My grades are perfect. Nothing less than perfection is acceptable. The teachers praise me. False words. All I am doing is memorizing useless information; swallowing it up and spitting it back out.
Classes fly by in a whirl. I sit in the back as always, close to windows. Today is overcast. Grey clouds blanket the once blue sky. The sun is hidden by the shadows. The swirling oblivion of sky embraces me. Holding me tight in it’s protective grip.
The bell rings.
I hate the bell. It calls out its squeaking noise signaling the close and start of everyday. A machine blindly leading students through the routine every day.
I hate it.
The noise is ugly, grotesque. I long for the beauty of my song, my dream. I am tempted to pull out my iPod here and now, but the thought of losing my only lifeline is too much.
I am in Communications. One of the few classes I actually put any thought into. It’s ironic somewhat, I do not communicate with others. Yet, I am the only one in this pointless class to put any thought into the foolish, journal topics. Somehow it makes me feel alive again. A faint memory of my former self. Something I do not want. It is dangerous to lust for, like playing with fire. I am bound to get hurt in the end. But usually my verbal answers are plain and normal. They offer no glimpse of my former self.
It’s relief in some ways.
But today is different. I write about music. The bittersweet melody of Cristofori’s dream. Of skies and stardust. Pain. Numbness.
I feel sadness. I must not feel this way. I am not human. I have no feelings. A face is embedded in my mind and it will not fade. The image is blurry. I cannot tell who it is. I want to forget. I have forgotten everything. Why not this blank face?
The bell rings.
Classes change. People clog the hallways, pushing and shoving as they do every time the bell rings. I walk slowly. The world passes by. The effect is dizzying. I steady myself against the wall. Deep breaths. My eyes scan the crowd. No one has stopped. No one has noticed that I have fallen out of the mad rush. I am invisible.
Slowly my hand snakes its way into my messenger bag and pulls out my iPod. I put the headphones in and let the music wash me away, far from reality. I do not care about the consequences. No one notices anyway.
The day finally ends.
The bell rings.
The people swarm, running to break free of the institution. Girls gossip about the latest trends and rumors. Boys boast of their latest achievements in sports and gaming. I am silent.
I walk to the courtyard. The sky is dark, the sun still hidden by the grey. Hidden from the world, like me. Wind blows, carrying with it soft flakes of snow. A glimpse of winter. I stretch my hand to the heavens, grasping desperately at the white. It slips through my fingers like… ‘like stardust,’ supplies my memory.
Stardust…
I stare up at the grey sky. Why is that word so important? Somehow it connotates something seemingly unobtainable. Or maybe…something I could not quite reach..
The school is now empty. I climb up onto the balcony. Silence lingers in the air.
And I cry.
How long has it been since I last cried? It seems ages ago. And in a sense, it was. A vivid memory flashes through my mind. I cried here once. On a cold winter’s day. The wind had played with my hair and shielded my tears.
I cried for her.
Why am I crying now? It’s foolish and weak. I shake my head, scattering the salty tears.
Somehow I end up on the roof overlooking the courtyard. I shiver involuntarily. Why do I feel the cold? I look out. Some would call this view majestic. I do not.
It is just earth. And earth is what grounds me. A familiar, comforting melody fills my mind.
Hesitantly I take a step to the ledge.
Sweet release.
I would be free. Free from the madness. I take a breath, preparing to fall. Then, suddenly… a hand.
I jump in shock, almost falling over the ledge. I am not used to human contact. The hand steadies me and pulls me into a tight embrace. The tension escapes me and I relax into their arms.
I look up into his face. It is unfamiliar. Staring past this person, I look into a window. I see two people holding hands. A mixture of shock and agony written on their faces.
Whoever is holding me grabs my face, forcing me to look away. “Don't look,” they whisper, “They’ll only cause you pain.”
I nod absently. My programmed response to anything. “Who are they?” I ask softly. He looks at me quizzically, his hair blowing in his face. Its color is odd. Torn, almost, between brown and blonde, with a hint of red.
“Do you not remember?”
I shake my head.
Stardust.
“Stardust…?” I inquire pointing my finger at one of the figures. She matches the blurry face in my head. He looks down at me sadly. “Yes, that’s her.”
I collapse into his arms. Broken fragments of memories are sewn back together. I remember. I feel…Pain… Agony… Sadness… Anger… Helplessness… Everything. I cry again, tears streaming.
The two figures run over. The dark haired one ahead, the redhead one lagging.
“Stay back,” the boys whisper dangerously, “You’ve caused enough damage with her. And unless you intend to take her back, leave.”
“But…” The brown haired girl reaches for words. She gestures to the red head.
“Exactly. Leave.”
They follow his words, and disappear inside the school.
Keeping one arm around my back, the boy uses his other hand to lift my chin. “Those events are long past. You must remember to overcome. You can live again. You can be the sunshine. You will be invincible again.”
“I was never invincible to begin with,” I whisper.
He smiles cheekily. “You’ve always tried your damned hardest to make us all believe you were.”
He leans over and kisses me.
I smile.
Rain pouring. Drops glistening against my skin. I feel. Thunder booms. Lightning strikes the ground. My senses tingle with the essence of the earth. I hardly notice the cold in the air. I love the rain. I can hide in its shadows. The world is hidden from me.
I go through my days in an endless cycle. I do not speak. No one would listen if I tried. I do not understand people. I don’t intend to try now.
I walk to school. I listen to the crunch of dead leaves under my feet. Silence. Beauty undisturbed. Purity untouched. People grow closer. Mindless chatter fills the air. The good feeling is shattered. Ignoring them, I place a set of headphones in my ears and let the music from my iPod wash over me. The gentle piano plays me a lullaby of peace. I am safe. The name of the piece is Cristofori’s Dream. The dream must have been a bittersweet one. The melody is heartbreakingly delicate. As if Cristofori’s reverie is one easily broken.
What did he dream about?
Longing? Lost love? Life? The music grows stronger. As if his dream is growing close to reality. Then suddenly, it is shattered. The melancholy returns.
I arrive at the school. I used to have friends. I doubt I would recognize them any more. I do not see faces. Only blank stares. I cannot remember them either.
Except for one.
I sit on a bench. Outside the air is frigid, what people call cold. A misconception. That is not cold. Cold is a feeling internal.
I remember a time when someone wrapped their arms around me. Protecting me from the cold, internal and external. Soft, tender, yet strong. I was safe in them.
The bell rings.
The memory fades. I go to my first class, barely paying attention. I already know the lesson. My grades are perfect. Nothing less than perfection is acceptable. The teachers praise me. False words. All I am doing is memorizing useless information; swallowing it up and spitting it back out.
Classes fly by in a whirl. I sit in the back as always, close to windows. Today is overcast. Grey clouds blanket the once blue sky. The sun is hidden by the shadows. The swirling oblivion of sky embraces me. Holding me tight in it’s protective grip.
The bell rings.
I hate the bell. It calls out its squeaking noise signaling the close and start of everyday. A machine blindly leading students through the routine every day.
I hate it.
The noise is ugly, grotesque. I long for the beauty of my song, my dream. I am tempted to pull out my iPod here and now, but the thought of losing my only lifeline is too much.
I am in Communications. One of the few classes I actually put any thought into. It’s ironic somewhat, I do not communicate with others. Yet, I am the only one in this pointless class to put any thought into the foolish, journal topics. Somehow it makes me feel alive again. A faint memory of my former self. Something I do not want. It is dangerous to lust for, like playing with fire. I am bound to get hurt in the end. But usually my verbal answers are plain and normal. They offer no glimpse of my former self.
It’s relief in some ways.
But today is different. I write about music. The bittersweet melody of Cristofori’s dream. Of skies and stardust. Pain. Numbness.
I feel sadness. I must not feel this way. I am not human. I have no feelings. A face is embedded in my mind and it will not fade. The image is blurry. I cannot tell who it is. I want to forget. I have forgotten everything. Why not this blank face?
The bell rings.
Classes change. People clog the hallways, pushing and shoving as they do every time the bell rings. I walk slowly. The world passes by. The effect is dizzying. I steady myself against the wall. Deep breaths. My eyes scan the crowd. No one has stopped. No one has noticed that I have fallen out of the mad rush. I am invisible.
Slowly my hand snakes its way into my messenger bag and pulls out my iPod. I put the headphones in and let the music wash me away, far from reality. I do not care about the consequences. No one notices anyway.
The day finally ends.
The bell rings.
The people swarm, running to break free of the institution. Girls gossip about the latest trends and rumors. Boys boast of their latest achievements in sports and gaming. I am silent.
I walk to the courtyard. The sky is dark, the sun still hidden by the grey. Hidden from the world, like me. Wind blows, carrying with it soft flakes of snow. A glimpse of winter. I stretch my hand to the heavens, grasping desperately at the white. It slips through my fingers like… ‘like stardust,’ supplies my memory.
Stardust…
I stare up at the grey sky. Why is that word so important? Somehow it connotates something seemingly unobtainable. Or maybe…something I could not quite reach..
The school is now empty. I climb up onto the balcony. Silence lingers in the air.
And I cry.
How long has it been since I last cried? It seems ages ago. And in a sense, it was. A vivid memory flashes through my mind. I cried here once. On a cold winter’s day. The wind had played with my hair and shielded my tears.
I cried for her.
Why am I crying now? It’s foolish and weak. I shake my head, scattering the salty tears.
Somehow I end up on the roof overlooking the courtyard. I shiver involuntarily. Why do I feel the cold? I look out. Some would call this view majestic. I do not.
It is just earth. And earth is what grounds me. A familiar, comforting melody fills my mind.
Hesitantly I take a step to the ledge.
Sweet release.
I would be free. Free from the madness. I take a breath, preparing to fall. Then, suddenly… a hand.
I jump in shock, almost falling over the ledge. I am not used to human contact. The hand steadies me and pulls me into a tight embrace. The tension escapes me and I relax into their arms.
I look up into his face. It is unfamiliar. Staring past this person, I look into a window. I see two people holding hands. A mixture of shock and agony written on their faces.
Whoever is holding me grabs my face, forcing me to look away. “Don't look,” they whisper, “They’ll only cause you pain.”
I nod absently. My programmed response to anything. “Who are they?” I ask softly. He looks at me quizzically, his hair blowing in his face. Its color is odd. Torn, almost, between brown and blonde, with a hint of red.
“Do you not remember?”
I shake my head.
Stardust.
“Stardust…?” I inquire pointing my finger at one of the figures. She matches the blurry face in my head. He looks down at me sadly. “Yes, that’s her.”
I collapse into his arms. Broken fragments of memories are sewn back together. I remember. I feel…Pain… Agony… Sadness… Anger… Helplessness… Everything. I cry again, tears streaming.
The two figures run over. The dark haired one ahead, the redhead one lagging.
“Stay back,” the boys whisper dangerously, “You’ve caused enough damage with her. And unless you intend to take her back, leave.”
“But…” The brown haired girl reaches for words. She gestures to the red head.
“Exactly. Leave.”
They follow his words, and disappear inside the school.
Keeping one arm around my back, the boy uses his other hand to lift my chin. “Those events are long past. You must remember to overcome. You can live again. You can be the sunshine. You will be invincible again.”
“I was never invincible to begin with,” I whisper.
He smiles cheekily. “You’ve always tried your damned hardest to make us all believe you were.”
He leans over and kisses me.
I smile.