Chapter Three: Trying

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The next days were drowned with delirious joy. So much, that I couldn't function!

"Sorry Boss, I can't go to work today. Going to a Coldplay concert with Synthia."

"Sorry Mrs. Maheswaran, can't babysit Connie on Thursday. Dinner with Synthia."

"Sorry Mom, can't call you on Saturday. Watching Doctor Who with Synthia."

"Sorry Joe, can't go bowling on Friday. Discussing the meaning of life with Synthia."

To add to the obsession, the music never seemed to end as well! The ceaseless mound of tuned emotion gripped my mind, and each moment it came I thought of Synthia, and each moment I thought of Synthia, the music grew stronger, and the more it grew stronger, the more I fell in love with it, and in turn, the more I fell in love with Synthia. This manic bliss ran in a monotonous cycle, feasting upon the flesh of my mind like a parasite... and I loved it.

I often found myself humming to the tune of the ever shifting orchestra piece, which would occasionally be joined by a ukelele, or drums, or a trumpet, or even something as obscure as a mandolin! However, never did the other instruments outshine the glory of the guiding piano.

It was entertaining to sometimes add lyrics to the song, giving them a footstool of meaning, like a translation of words from the language of music to the language of the people.

Here I lay my merry head

upon my lover's lap.

And though the world shall turn to dead,

this love shall not unwrap.

Her eyes are lilac as the flower,

her voice the sound of glee.

The stars could never match her power,

lest they fall and drift to sea.

Hark! Behold the purest heart,

which none but she possess.

And so enjoy the warming art

of learning to caress.

I know these words will quickly fade

and follow my corpse sooth,

but I'll follow her to the glade

of loving and of truth.

These were a few of the words which I scribbled on scraps of paper and taped to my wall. Truly, I was inspired and obsessed.

Yet one morning, as I sat sipping my morning green tea, I felt a deep longing ache in my soul. Just listening to the music was not enough. Others needed to hear it. They needed to understand. Then maybe they wouldn't question why I skipped work so often, or made excuses for quitting other planned events, or why I sometimes danced down the street to the music that carried me along. They needed to hear.

So at five o'clock, I made my way to the downtown theatre. It wasn't open today, so there was nobody there to send me away. Carefully, I picked the lock to the entrance and gingerly strolled inside. No one to be seen, so no one to see me.

There it was. Resting on the dusting stage, in all of its glory. The grand piano.

Beads of sweat developed upon my brow as a surge of jittery anticipation coursed through my body. The piano keys of my thoughts seemed to recognize their physical form, and tugged me toward the towering instrument. My feet creaked the floorboard steps, and took me to the center stage. I brushed my fingertips along the carefully assembled beauty of the musical tool; the gentle tap of a note sent electric shock through my system. Yes, this was the thing that would quench my thirst.

My friend, the piano, coaxed me to her bench. I sat upon her leather cover, and laid my digits on her keys. I stroked her shelf, grinning as I realized no paper would needed to be placed there for me to preform. The dim sunlight emanating from the crack in the roof above me warmed my skin, and prepared my spirit for creation.

I shut my eyes, and mentally whispered to whatever creature or power that sends wonderful madness to me to treat me as a vessel, and I called upon its power to bless my talents, making them great enough to break the barrier of insanity and reality so beauty may abound for others to see.

The mental music ran, and my fingers followed along. We played as one, the unseen conductor my teacher, I his apprentice. Fingers flew up and down the keys for hours, yet satisfaction was never delivered. My heart burst with energy, yet no matter how hard my hands tried, the sound of the worldly piano never quite matched the essence in my memories. Hours overlapped hours (how many I never knew) and still the hunger was not dead.

"It's not the same! It's unequal!" I shouted as blood flew from my fingers, as a result of my desperate, undying attempts. My skin tore more, and the keys stained red. The notes began to screech as my tension rose, and the edge of the keys became knives to slice my wrists and fingers as they slipped. A deep throbbing pounding in my head, screaming to be let out.

Again! Again! ordered the music, now possessing a voice, Try again! Again, again!

I saw the light fade from the ceiling. Twas night.

More! More! barked the piano voice, Do more! You cannot stop until it is done! They must see! Go! MORE! MORE! MORE!

"SHUT UP!" I cried, my voice breaking, blood seeping deeper into the keys, fingers still flying, fighting.... failing.

Don't you see? purred the voice, If you love her, you must do this. If you cannot do this... then you do not truly love her.

Sobbing screams of traumatic order were released from my guttural throat as I pounded my bloodied fists into the keys. My body shook in an awful tremor. The piano was now scarlet.

"I AM NOT CRAZY!" I wailed, still punching the piano, "I AM SANE!"

But that is what crazy people say.

My rampaging fit had a lifespan of about seven hours, or at least that is what Synthia told me. She claimed that she heard a terrific noise from a block away, and ran towards its source, only to find me, unconscious and bloody, collapsed on the piano.

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