Author: SheWhoFliesWithDragons PM
Just a short drabble on August and his music. Please read and review!Rated: Fiction K - English - Words: 601 - Reviews: 4 - Favs: 4 - Published: 06-16-11 - Status: Complete - id: 7088564
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
AN~ Hey guys! I know the August Rush fandom isn't huge, but I felt inspired. So, I decided to write my first actual story on here, even though it is just a short one-shot. Please review! I really love getting reviews, and I appreciate hearing from my readers. C'mon, just one little review? Please?
(A bit of shameless advertising~ I have two Maximum Ride poems posted, go check 'em out!)
Listen. Can you hear it?
The music is all around us. In the wind chimes swirling through the breeze, tinkling with soft, harmonious tunes. In the fast paced slap-slap of the jump rope as it brushes the pavement. It floats through the wind and lifts him up to a place so high off the ground that he can't be reached.
No matter what the cruel world may dish out to him, he will always have the music. It is his to feel, to enjoy, to tame. The music allows him to be gifted in unraveling its mysteries, and no matter how many symphonies he writes, it will never fully be his.
A prodigy, they call him. A miracle, they declare in hushed voices when he strums away on his guitar, very much oblivious to their musings. As long as he has the music, he could care less what they say.
He tries to understand that not everyone hears the music as he does. He tries to understand that the music does not speak to everyone as it does to him. He tries in vain, and yet he still understands so much more than they do.
He doesn't see what makes him so different from them. He doesn't understand what's lacking in them, the vital part that draws the line between them and him. He just sees a kaleidoscope world of people, that hurry and hustle and bustle, never taking the time to slow down and listen, never aware of the beautiful music they are making.
Because they do make music. As unaware of it as they are, they still manage to make it flow together in everything they do. He thinks that if they take the time, if they would just pay attention, then they would be able to hear it. He tells them to listen, tells them the music is speaking to them.
Many must think he's insane.
He wonders if anyone else can hear it. If perhaps one soul in this lonely world could hear it too, and find him, and they could explore it together.
He likes to think that his parents can. He likes to imagine that they can hear it, and that one day they will find him, and then maybe, just maybe he won't be alone anymore.
But, then again, as sure as he will always be alone, he will also never be alone. Because the Music is always with him, no matter what.
And now, as he stands on the brightly lit stage, listening to the music he composed, listening to the story of his life played out in a song, he is content. The last notes have just faded into the air. The audience's thunderous applause reaches his ears, and he hears a melody in that too. Like the final swell in a piece of music. He embraces it, and looks out to the crowd.
He doesn't even see them, but suddenly, he feels them. And in the glare of the stage lights, he can just make out two figures at the front of the crowd.
And he smiles.