The Silence We Fill | MYG

Chapter Two

Song Used: Tchaikovsky/Rachmaninoff: Valse from "The Sleeping Beauty" op. 66
(Recommended to play when song comes up)

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The bathrooms were nice. 

And I mean nice.

Squeaky clean, no stains, and a smell that reminded me of lavender. Not to mention you basically didn't have to touch a thing as it all was hands free. 

Needless to say, this was the best bathroom I had ever been in.

Though I tried to get through everything quickly, wanting to see who the first person was. I could hear the faint sound of their instrument, the sound light. 

It was pretty.

I rushed through the hallways, grinning when I saw the entrance to the area Marsha spoke about. I opened the door as silently as possible, also trying to make sure I didn't bash everything with my case. Yes, I took it with me. Just for the precautionary measure that it wasn't stolen.

It was expensive, the nicest thing I owned and where all my money had gone before this competition. But it was worth it,after all I had set my sights on it for a while by now. And seeing it in my hands, ready to play any note it could was a beauty that I knew I would enjoy forever.

Glancing around, I see someone is already there.

And I stop. 

What a coincidence. It's blue hair guy, the boy leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees and a look of concentration on his face. His eyes are even thinner than earlier, as if watching every movement the person played. It was if the rest of the world didn't exist, the only thing in front of him being the violinist.

I tried to not make any sound, sitting in the middle aisle and on the edge chair so I could silently set my case down. Of course, it makes a small tap. 

And this tap seems to pull this mysterious man out of his set daze, his eyes turning towards me. I hold my breath, looking at how deep of a brown his eyes seem to be. 

They're almost black. 

He slowly turns back to the the musician, simply falling back into his chair. No longer is he leaning forward but instead simply resting, his eyes closing. I'm sure he's just listening to the piece now.

I tear my eyes off of him, looking to the one who's playing. I don't catch anything though as the violinist plays his last note, the sound echoing despite how small the room is. 

I give a polite clap, the person on stage looking up and seeing me. When he does, I see the white teeth of smile as he bows before then walking off stage. At the actions I smile too, glad I could see a happy expression. 

The next person comes on, holding nothing.

Ah, a pianist then. 

It was obvious. Those who weren't holding cases were able to play the piano. 

It was in the rules after all.

The competition was meant for violinists, but we were meant to have someone to play with us. This is how they were choosing for our town. By picking the best violinist and best pianist I'm sure. Once that was done, whoever was picked would go to district, travel to state, go up to national, and soon world wide.

It seemed like a long shot to get there but someone had to.

And I wanted to.

I needed to.

The person, a girl by her petite figure and long hair, bows before then walking to the piano that was to the edge of the stage. Quietly she sits, trying a key before then clearing her throat.

She says something, something I don't catch, before then starting to play. Maybe the song she was meant to play. She touches the keys, instantly setting off in a fast pace. I tilt my head, leaning forward.

The sound was so light, spreading across the hall. I simply sit, waiting for some type of spark. Her own input, something that said this was hers.

Though she wore a stoic expression. Not a hint of emotion was shown.

The tempo slowed before then starting a beat.

Oh, I knew what this was.

Tchaikovsky.

This musician created Valse from sleeping beauty.

The song isn't long, only four minutes. But it holds such joy that when I would play it you could see my hands move so happily across the strings that my violin held.

I glance to the man, who's now watching but this time with an expression that I couldn't understand. He didn't look disappointed but his lips were firm, eyes still narrowed, and hands clasped together.

The performance is something that's not particularity thrilling, something you could expect from anyone really. But the song ends quickly, the last note ringing with a sound that I wouldn't really call exciting. I clap nonetheless, not wanting to seem rude and applauding the effort that she did put in. 

After all it took a lot of practice to remember a piece.

The girl notices, looking up and smiling.

I don't really keep track of each face and person that comes up. Most of them were things you could see anywhere, the mistakes being obvious from how anxious they were. I only pause when I realize that they call a number that's right before me. I should be going then.

Quickly I stand, taking one last look to the man who's sitting next to me. He doesn't move an inch, simply listening to the musician. 

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I'm in the waiting room in no time, something I'm glad for because only a few moments later does Marsha come in looking for me. I follow her, mentally trying to not panic. 

Breath in.

Breath out.

I just had to fake it til I make it.

We stop in front of metal door this time, the girl opening it easily before leading to me where I was about to enter. It was just on the side of the stage, the piano staring at me on the opposite end.

I see the previous person, a boy who hold his violin and bow in trembling hands, walking back.

He looks to me as he passes, whispering a quiet 'good luck'.

I never believed in luck. Only talent.

I glance to Marsha who nods to me. Instantly, my feet move, taking long strides to make my way there faster without it looking unnatural. This was something that I had to practice multiple times at home after one of 'friends' pointed it out.

I think I nailed it down.

I stop once I make it to the middle, bowing down as I announce myself. "I'm Kim (Y/N) and I'm competing for a violin position." I see the judges, there being three, write something down on their notepads. 

"And what song will you be performing?" One asks, an older man with a bald patch in the middle of his head while grey hairs touch the sides. His eyes seem dull, the hazel in them being closer to a grey. And when he speaks, his voice doesn't rise or fall, a monotone sound being barely carried through the air.

"A piece by Antonio Vivaldi. I will be doing 'Summer', from his four seasons." I tell him keeping my voice stable despite it wanting to tremble. Even though there isn't that many people, I feel a whole new type of nervousness and anxiety overtake me. But I can't let it control me, I've worked to hard for that.

Slowly, I lift my violin, setting it under my chin before readying my bow.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Very delicately, I let my bow touch the strings of my violin. 

End of Chapter Two