Dear Beethoven, I'm sorry for everything I did. Nothing can excuse my behavior. Sincerely from the darkest deepest depths of my heart.
with love
Wolfgang A. Mozart
Mozart writing on his papyrus, his quill aggressively pressing against the thin ivory sheet. He was frustrated, he didn't know what to write. He knew he would have to eventually face it, and face it soon. Today was competition day. A day of fear, anxiety, old friends. Betrayals and alliances. Mozart knew he would eventually have to face his old foe, Beethoven. 'Thoven as he likes to dub him. Mozart and Beethoven went to the same high school, Timothy Jackson School of Arts for Young Men; or just TJS. Mozart was some what of a bully toward Mozart, Beethoven was thought to be homosexual, and that led to Mozart and many others at the school to brutally bully and/or oppress him for his unconfirmed orientation. It drove Beethoven insane, writing his many musical compositions in frustration and fear.
Anger driven he strives to be the best musician, and obviously better than Mozart. Mozart realized he wasn't completely ready and has splattered ink on his hands. He ran towards his closet choosing his favorite clothing composition. A bright red jacket; his reward for winning a recent competition. He powdered his wig, "perfect pale" he said as he adjusted the braids. Then he snared his face with lead foundation "perfect pale" he said again looking at his ivory skin. Almost like the look, pale and rocky-like. As if Meteors hit it.
The clock tower struck 9. The loud bells echoing throughout the city "Golly time to flee" Mozart said while speeding towards the exit of his home. Dashing through the town to meet at Music Hall he bumped into a blue figure. Tall and lanky. A "perfect pale" as usually described by Mozart
