The Sounds of Love

Coffee Stains (Jackson)

"What a perfect morning." The open curtains in Jackson's dining room let in plenty of natural light, and he could see clearly around his apartment. The kitchen sink was loaded with dishes, and the counter space was covered with whatever could fit. The only pristine space in the area was a mug sitting next to an old coffee machine. The smell of the dark beans wafted through his home, stimulating him. "The sun is shining, it's not cold and depressing outside, and I...." Jackson paused, looking at the giant mess around him. His mood was instantly muddled, and he made a mental note to clean the dishes later. "I don't know why I'm talking to myself." Jackson rolled his eyes and walked to his dining room area, avoiding bits and bobs before reaching for the string that would let him close the blinds.

The room went dark, and he quickly reached for a light switch with a grim smile. There, darkness, just the way I like it. Who needs natural light. He wandered back to the kitchen, grabbed his coffee pot, brought it to his favorite mug, and filled it. When he finished, Jackson carefully put the pot back into the machine and looked at his fridge. He knew he was out of milk and realized he'd have to drink the coffee as it came, black. A small sigh escaped his lips as he started towards the office. The living room had been repurposed as his office years ago, and he was careful not to step on anything he'd left on the floor while holding his mug.

The office area was painted a deep sanguine red, and Jackson smiled at his handiwork. In one corner was a dainty, uniquely shaped lamp. It curled in strange directions with multiple bulbs creating waves of light and tiny shadows in every direction. Beside the lamp was an antique mahogany desk with archaic designs around the borders. Jackson smiled as he headed towards his favorite chair. A petite blue armchair sat beside the desk, and he looked at it fondly. Jackson's mom gave it to him as a celebratory gift when he'd sold his first set of sheet music. Because of that, he never sat anywhere else in his house. He noticed a small cut in the armrest's light blue fabric, and his brows furled. He wondered what effort would go into repairing it and how long it would take while putting his mug casually on the ancient desk and sitting in his chair. With a few short firm movements, Jackson scooted the chair delicately into place so it wouldn't squeal or damage the legs when he leaned forward to work.

Reaching for his mug, Jackson took his first sip of the black coffee, and his face curled in disgust. I wish I'd grabbed milk at the store yesterday. Jackson swallowed the bitter liquid with a grunt.

This is disgusting. Jackson let out another sigh as he sank into the chair. Reaching forward, he set the mug of black gold on his desk. The momentum sent a small dribble over the edge of his mug, and it fled toward the multiple coffee stains already painting the desk. After a long, sleep-deprived yawn, he looked at the paper beside his mug. Now that I have my coffee, I can start writing again. Jackson reached for the half-written sheet music and tried to reread his work. He slowly began to hum the last few notes he'd written and tried to let the melody replay in his mind until it caught up to where he'd paused a few minutes ago. Re-reading the sheet again, he let the symphony play in his mind, searching desperately for inspiration to write what would come next. Should it be an A? Perhaps a B sharp? Maybe even an E? Jackson looked at the sheet and set it down before grabbing the mug and going for another grueling sip.

Gritting his teeth, Jackson put the mug back down and started humming the tune once more. The silence only seemed to intensify as he tried to find his next note until he heard the ping of a symbol, which shattered the silence of his mind. The ring of a symbol was needed to continue, and he quickly grabbed a pen as he started to find his rhythm again. Creating a ringing sound in his mind, Jackson added the echo of a deep stringed instrument to counter the sharp trill and felt his body slowly sway in the rhythm he was creating. Quickly writing down what he'd felt, the notations were slowly coming to life before him, and Jackson was able to get another few lines of music.