[prose] The Concert

((This was inspired by my junior's SYF competition performance. They got Gold, avenging our Silver. But then again, every other school got a Gold, so what the hell.))

Silence hung like a cloud over the auditorium, serenely calm, yet eagerly expecting. Breaths were held, lest they broke the silence. No one moved, no one dared to. The hall was filled with audio darkness. Then, hearts beating synchronised, the orchestra, as one, took a deep breath…

And played.

The first note dropped like golden liqueur on a calm pool, casting ripples of emotion through the dark clouds of gloom and tension. The sweet treble sang out clear as a bell, enticing us, calling our names, like fairies luring little children out to play. The bass, deep, strong, lurking, like a velvet curtain, inviting us to draw it aside and experience the mysteries it held at bay.

The melody started slow and calm. A lament for us whose battle was fought and lost, and whose song was now dead. Music has a soul for us to discover. Most of the people who sat in the hall heard the music but could not draw the soul out from beyond the veil. We whose swan song has been sung, we alone understood. Like shades we lingered, watching to see our dream in the hands of our descendants realised.

The tempo picked up pace, from mourning to celebration, past to future. The orchestra trumpeted and shouted their triumph even before it was announced. The drums beat out a tune of jubilation in a foreshadowing of the near future. Fiddles and flutes danced wildly, singing their victory song. We ancient spirits smile and nod. We who belong to the past should not be remembered when there was a bright future ahead. The young, whose time was now, should sing and dance, before they fade and become like us, mere ghosts of an old song.

With loud booming and shrill voices, the song approached its sweet end. We grinned, satisfied in knowing that things will end happily ever after. The last note roared and resonated in the hall, echoing. The note lingered, suspended in the air, then faded slowly, like the waves receding from the shoreline. The last ripples flowed away, chasing as it went, the last traces of doubt and anxiety. We lingering spirits, too, sit back, happy for our descendants.

We were, at last, avenged.