Content: suicidal thoughts, and that's pretty much it correct me if I'm wrong
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He never liked playing the violin.
The way he had to stand.
The way he had to hold it.
The sound it made as the bow strings vibrate the strings of the instrument itself.
It hurt his ears.
It hurts his back, his neck, his hands.
The pain always lingered after he played the violin.
If he bent his back the wrong way, pain would jolt through his spine.
He'd rub his neck for hours after, silently hoping it would go away.
The tips of his fingers were calloused, and his hands were always cramped and sore.
Most of all, he was tired. Exhausted, even.
He took so much time out of his life and dedicated it to this worthless hobby.
And all of it was dedicated to his older sister.
An older sister who was easily favored by their family.
All their attention went to her.
You got a good grade on your test? Oh, big sister got a better grade!
Aw you fell over and scraped your knee? Oh no! Big sister got an itty bitty cat scratch!
You feel suicidal because you feel worthless to your family? Well big sister is sad because her cat won't look at her! It's obvious she's the one who needs all of the attention!!!
It was starting to seem like they only cared about her.
…He was numb to it at this point.
But now, here he sat, backstage at his very important recital.
That his family didn't even bother showing up to.
The recital was already over.
It was his most important play ever.
He'd dedicated this piece to his big sister.
…And they didn't show up.
He'd never felt more worthless.
He sighs and brings his hand up to wipe away the tears welling up in his eyes.
He really should just kill himself.
No one would notice, right?
He's just a nobody, after all.
He looks over at his violin case. He runs his hand across it. The smooth black leather pleasing to touch. "S'just you and me." He mutters.
He sighs again, picking it up and standing. He might as well just leave. He picks up his folder of music sheets, just full of meaningless, worthless bullshit, apparently.
He begins towards the exit, pushing the door open and making the pitiful walk of shame to his car. He stores the violin and music sheets in the backseat and sits in the front driver's seat.
He didn't have a fancy car. It was really just a car. It worked, it drove well, and it hasn't failed him yet.
Before he starts his car, he pulls his phone from his suit pocket. Turns out, fancy pants don't have very big pockets. Kinda sad. He turns on his phone, and a notification immediately pops up on his lock screen. A text. He unlocks his phone to get a better look at it.
