Still the same. And still beautiful.

Still the same. And still beautiful. Chapter 1

Prolouge: Inside.

Walking up to the place again. The first ostinato section of mozarts 16th sonata in C. The place had people on it, the same people. Good. The same. As always. standing as they should. The trees were leafless, but it was at that strange time when summer had not quite taken over winter. The sun shone through the branches into his face. Vivaldi, the four seasons. Winter. the gentle but progressive frost of the violins, into the climax of sound, the light shone again. peeking up from behind one of the bigger branches. The music melted into summer... The virst two notes peircing through the dappled branches and landing gracefully onto his face. slow but powerful, the bright violins regestered in his brain as the sun, and crescendoed into the huge sound of the string section as his line of vision passed the tree, and the flash of the percussion reflected of a window and stunned him. It slowed. the bus drew up. Mozarts Concerto No. 21. Andante again. he walked in. and sat. the same seat. The same. the bus cornered, and the concerto continued. Still beautiful, those same notes that were identical to the ones written so long ago. The Same. Stilll the same, and still beautiful.

Chapter 1. Outside

He walked up to the bus stop again. He always walked that way, silently, glacing at us all, I still dont get why. He looked up at the tree and just stared up, As always! He looked down again and some light reflected of into a window and he just looked at it. what could be going through someones head, just looking at some window? The bus drew up and he walked inside, sitting in the same stupid seat. and just looked forward, into the chair ahead, eyes open. What the hell was wrong with him? I wish one day someone sat on his oh so special chair and see what he does! I cant see him picking a fight with anyone! He was thin and expressionless. perfect school uniform, perfect school equipment, perfect stationary. So perfect, but so annoying. He never said anything to anyone. Not ever. Tommorow, he would.

***

-Inside

Walking up to the place again. The same. One of Bachs preludes echoed, the sound of the rain as it pattered down, feeding the grounds thirst. The trees were the same. He looked up, the perspective of the rain changing as it fell towards him from the heavens. Instead of the usual four seasons, there was instead a chopin Nocturne, opus 27 No. 2. The piano solo. everyhthing was perfect.

-outside

Just walking in the rain, he didn't seem to care about getting wet. he just walked. looked up to the tree, rain fell onto him, but he still looked up! He always did. The bus came again. I made sure I was ahead of him. I wondered how he would react, the weirdo. I nudged Rachel, "watch this" I sat down. In his seat.

-Inside

He walked up to the bus and went in. The one with the shorter hair than the others kept looking at him, and walked faster than normal to the bus. he went on, Mozarts Concerto No. 21, Andante. Again.

-Outside

He just looked at me, didn't say a word.

-Inside

He just looked at her. I wasn't right, it was all wrong! she was sitting in the place he sat. The music stopped. It wasn't right, it wasn't the same. His head was so empty, the music had stopped!

-Outside

I didn't get it. what was wrong with him? He was in a different world, and I was dragging him into the real world. Rachel was staring to, further back in the bus, she shouted at him, "what the fuck are doing doing, you retard, sit down!"

-Inside

There was a noise, but it wasn't like the music, it was loud and harch, it had no structure, no purpose, but he knew it was for him. He was to scared to look at the source, he didn't understand, the music had stopped, it wasn't the same, it wasn't beautiful anymore, it was all crashing apart. The fear hit him, he shuddered, and rocked and all he knew was that it wasn't working. It was all going wrong. He ran. Out of the bus and onto the street and away, far away, away from there. the noise and the one with the shorter hair than the others. The music stopped. but as he looked up, and saw the trees again and saw the road. It started again, slowly. He walked down the street, enjoying the sight of the sound, and the beautiful noise of the trees, and the road, and the houses and the music. The same again. Still the same...