[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.

[prose] The Eternal Vow

((I wanted to write this for a friend who was having trouble in his relationship. It did encourage him... a bit...))

It is a secret lovers share... A tiny seed of hope that keeps them alive, day after day, in sorrow or in joy. You could be at opposite ends of the universe and still be happy together. For he is, and will always be, an angel, your guiding light. The beating of your heart the fluttering of his wings of love.

The knowledge, aye, the very thought of this should be the cause of joy in every man whose heart has known the warmth of love, the warmth so strong it can keep a dying person alive, and make a broken man whole. It is a promise, lasting and binding, that the spirits of lovers will always linger together, inseparably, and that no matter where you are, or how far apart your lover is, you will, without a doubt, be reunited. This bond, this rule of nature can and must never be broken.

This is the love contract... This... is the Eternal Vow...

[prose] Moonseeker

((This piece is inspired by the song in the Phantom of the Opera, "Think of Me". The moon that night was also full and bright, inducing a sense of lovesickness...))

The great lord Apollo ended his stroll of the horizons, his flaming hair quenched as he retreated behind the mountains, his fiery warmth giving way to the cool, queenly radiance of the moon.

From her pose on the balcony, she watched as the moon began her melancholic dance, her raven hair unfathomable as it fanned out around her, stretching out immeasurably to cover the sky, throwing the world into pitch darkness. She was cloaked in a translucent gown that coyly enticed her worshippers and admirers, as the jewels in her hair winked and twinkled.

'Oh lady of the night!' she prayed, watching mersmerised as the moon twirled, her pace sad and slow. 'Hear my prayer; bathe him with blessings and moonbeams. Make his dreams sweet!'

But the moon was too aloof to hear. She was but one of hier many worshippers; why would she be obliged to grant her wishes? In the background, the radio played softly. She hummed the melody subconsciously, then, with a passionate sigh of longing, she began to sing with a strong, clear voice.

'Think of me, think of me fondly
When we've said goodbye.
Remember me, once in a while,
Please promise me you'll try...'

The moon appeared to dance in step with the song. Perhaps, she thought, the moon once had a lover too. And tonight she danced for her lover, in memory of her lover...

'We never said our love was evergreen
Or as unchanging as the sea,
But if you can still remember,
Stop and think of me...'

By now her voice had begun to waver, shoulders shaking from tears long held back. If only he was there by her side now... She sobbed silently, remembering as she did, his sturdy shoulders. They were not particularly well-muscled, but they had the supernatural strength to carry her burdens, the lightly tanned skin stained with her tears. Oh how she wished!

'Think of me, think of me waking,
Silent and resigned.
Imagine me, trying too hard
To put you from my mind...'

She could not take it any longer. Drawing a deep breath, she cried out, 'Oh Diana, fair lady of the night!' Suddenly, as though she had heard the desperate cry of this lonely soul, the moon threw back her cloak to reveal her face, sad yet kind, tear-streaked yet smiling.

'Yes,' the moon seemed to say, touched by her love. 'Yes, I will grant you and your lover my blessings, that you may meet again, this night, in dreams...' From the balcony, she smiled, peace and gratefulness settling on her face.

'Recall those days, look back on all those times,
Think of the things we'll never do.
There will never be a day
When I won't think of you...'

'Thank you, lady!' she prayed silently, hands clapsed together, as she prepared to enter her dreams, to meet her lover...

[prose] A Father's Love

((This is one of my all-time favourites. Enjoy!!))

The young child lay in the darkest corner of her room, sobbing into her pillow. Though she hid under her blanket, the thick sheet of wool gave no warmth to her icy heart. Grief had claimed her, and she was numbed to all else. Beside her lay an open journal with a half-written entry, a weathered guitar and a handphone. Writing, music and friends, these used to be her source of comfort, but now, all else failed, and she was left alone in the dark.

How could this happen, she asked the ceiling pointlessly. She had spent half her life and all her energy creating this perfect world, this personal utopia had that caved in overnight, leaving her as broken as her sanctuary. Her fingernails clawed her chest as though trying to rip away the pain from her heart. Tears flowed free as the rain, but they could not wash away all that has happened, or would happen. Let me die now, she screamed soundlessly into her pillow. Sorrow had hijacked her body; she would leave this world of pain and loneliness now. Nothing could change her mind...

Except...

The door opened so soundlessly that the girl, so absorbed in her pain, did not hear, nor did she see the light-source, a single candle burning bright, chase away the blackness that swallowed her. He who held the candle walked into the room with such grace He seemed to glide. He set the candle at her bedside and sat on the edge of her bed, stroking her once glossy, smooth hair. He sighed; it hurt Him to see His child in pain. The little girl looked up with an expression of mixed joy and surprise on her face wet with tears.

"Papa!" she cried, releasing the pillow she was holding on tightly to and flinging herself into His open arms.

"Papa... I... Oh Papa! It hurts so much!"

"Hush, child," the Father whispered, His voice gentle as the summer breeze. "I understand. It's alright, it's alright."

"But Papa! How can You know? How can You understand?" The child's eyes brimmed once more with tears, two fat crystal dewdrops rolling down her cheeks.

"Trust Me, My child, I know. I have seen you suffer from afar. Now, precious one, will you be willing to let Me help you?"

In reply, the girl clutched her Father's shirt, her arms being too short to circle His chest. She held nothing back, her Father's shirt slowly growing wet with tears. He held her tight in those arms that never grew tired of comforting His children. His breath, sweet and warm, melted her hardened heart, thawing the numbness in her body, giving her strength and love...

Finally the girl looked up to gaze into her Father's kind eyes, her heart lightened, her small frame so filled with joy she hardly dared to open her mouth for fear that the happiness within would empty out of her.

"Thank You, Papa! I feel better now..." She managed a small smile, her eyes alight once more with joy.

He smiled in return and gently pushed her back onto her bed, tucking her in under the blankets.

"You're welcome, dear child," He whispered, the words floating above her into the night air. "You're always welcome. I am always here for you. But now, rest well, my child."

He kissed her on her forehead, took up the still-burning candle, and left her room, pausing only to watch her sleep with a smile on her lips and utter peace in her heart.

"Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest."
- Matthew 11:28