Falling Slowly

i. her

saturday, november ninth, twenty-fourteen

• • •

eventually she was forced to admit
that it was time for her to
stop stalling, and
to ignore her insecurities
about her playing, and
to take a step closer to her dream.

• • •

performance group - she heard -
was fun
exciting
a friendly environment
but everything was intidimating to her.
she didn't want to go.
no.
she was afraid to go.

• • •

her father dropped her off
at the entrance to the building
where kids went to learn about music;
not monotonously
but in a way to experience
what they were all really there for:

playing,
living,
creating music.

• • •

it was exactly one o' clock;
she hated being remotely late to anything,
but when the clock stole another
precious minute
and added it to its collection,
she pushed past the doors
leading to the dreaded practice room
where she would be forced to

interact
socialize
play in front of other kids.

• • •

there was a staircase.
the room was like an attic.
she could hear the sounds of buzzing
and talking
and laughing from above.

• • •

she took her first step.
the stair creaked loudly,
and she felt even more unsafe
than she did in the first place.

• • •

one.

two.

three.

she counted the steps as she went,
each creaking as loudly as the previous.
and when she got to the top,
she looked around
and she realized
she was in paradise.

• • •

taking the guitar case in her hand,
she set it down on the floor
and took in her surroundings.
there were three sofas,
two at the back, all occupied,
and one in the front.
empty.

• • •

she took a seat on the right side
and observed.

• • •

everyone was talkative and happy.
they all knew each other.
they didn't know her.
she didn't know them.
she felt the anxiety well up in her gut.

• • •

in the front of the room
there was a drum set
and keyboards
and amps littering the north side.
the first group was already set up
to practice their song for the seasonal show.
she hid a small smile.
she finally got to play in a real band
in front of real people
playing the instrument she really loved.

too bad she was terrified.

• • •

the show theme was acoustic rock.
there were two people on their acoustic guitars
to the right side.
a bass player sat towards the left.
in the back center was the drummer.
in the back right were the keys.
and in the center was a boy.

• • •

they began to play.
and it was like nothing
she had ever heard before.
it sounded

so real

so warm

so achingly close to what she wanted.

the sound filtered through her ears
and for a blissful moment
she closed her eyes.
and when they opened,
they locked onto the vocalist.

• • •

he was beautiful.
in an oversized grey sweater
that hung loosely on his thin stature,
and pants that hung a little low
on the waist,
and brown hair that looked grey and gold
underneath the stage lights,
bangs swept to the left,
he was so simple,
yet so ornate.

• • •

he sang with a voice that was akin to silk,
or perhaps the same softness
of the fabric that
her own sweater was made of,
and it brought chills to her spine.

• • •

"you belong among the wildflowers,
you belong on a boat out at sea.
sail away, kill off the hours.
you belong somewhere you feel free."

• • •

she didn't think it was true.
it was a sort of myth
that found itself
breaking into reality,
and molding into a
concrete idea that found itself
attaching to her mind.

• • •

love at first sight,
she thought,
what a feeling.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Okay, so please don't shoot me guys for coming up with yet another story. But this came to me after daydreaming a bit about some stuff, and I had to write it down before I forgot.

In case you're all wondering, yes the School of Rock isn't just a movie, it's an actual place for music lessons pertaining to guitar, bass, vocals, and keys. I go there every saturday for performance rehearsal (hopefully the preface helped explain what the school is like, but if not, just look it up on google. c: ) and I play in three songs for this season's show.

I'll be updating this stuff more frequently than my other stories, primarily because I have motivation for it, Winona can't be updated because it's in the Pencial Prize Competition and Shutter/Reckless Serenade are at a stalemate, it's easy to write, and because the word count is so little.

The writing style is a lot different than what I usually post. It's a mix between poetry and Shutter's writing style, with intended lower case letters. Let me know what you guys think about it.

Dedicated to cityscape because my words can never sound as beautiful as hers. Seriously, read her stories. They'll make you cry and contemplate life. I love her works.

As always, comment, vote, and promote! (: (Can you believe I'm almost to 10k votes? Whoa!)

-Isabelle