Shooting Star

As he stood there, the world looked on; ashamed, defiant, perhaps oblivious. He knew this to be so but had always hoped for something more.

The pavement beneath his feet sported little stones wedged between the ten millimetre cracks. Nine millimetres in some places, he noticed. He never wanted to be stuck like one of those little black stones, all caught up between one hard slab and the next. It was their own fault really – the stones, that is – they hadn't been coerced or forced into the tiny canyons but a space had simply been left in case one should fall, or tumble, or make an inevitable mistake.

Mistake. The thought lingered as his heavy footsteps carried him towards his destination. Destination because he had forgotten the name of the unfamiliar grey building that loomed ahead of him. As he walked beneath a sign he didn't read, the static voices of people turned slowly into the familiar melodies that pervaded his mind constantly.

He walked and nodded, smiled and walked, never stopping because he knew no one here. He was the last minute replacement. Not a replacement. The replacement. The difference made him feel important.

Right foot. Left foot. Right. Left. As he walked into the light he closed his eyes and saw nothing. He began to listen.

At first they responded with trepidation, shyly acknowledging his unfamiliar motions and movements. They were treading carefully, coolly, with such hesitation as an audience member receiving an understudy. They were like a well-oiled machine, a jigsaw puzzle with no conceivable room for a newcomer. Accepting him would mean betraying their leader, one who had worked them tirelessly to the bones beneath their fingertips, the blood beneath their lips.

Up. Down. Out. In. He felt their eyes fall upon him as they really began to understand.

The lead violin was the first to trust him. Swimming in her swirling melody, she bathed in his rhythm. The others felt it undeniably, as they began to work with him, no longer against – accepting one final piece of the puzzle and unable to resist temptation. The relationship blossomed slowly into something beautiful, spectacular. Sounds flitted and bellowed, turned and lingered throughout his questionable consciousness until there was no fear left, not only in him, but in the world. There was only courage and an unforgettable burst of colours he had never seen.

As the symphony slowed to a triumphant end, he felt numb and warm, wet with the blood and tears that streamed down his face. He fell without strength and listening as the audience's applause ground to silence, he whispered the few rare words that even then, barely escaped his lips.

If music be the food of love, play on.

Play on.

Although they were uncertain, he heard them as he slipped away like a little black stone, to forever watch the world. And listen.

As he lay there the world looked on; confused, changed, perhaps oblivious. But at last, they were captivated.