The sky was bright and transparent after a windy night. Little cloud hanged up high as the most had realized the cooling fall was no longer their part to play and thus left the stage during the night, when audience were asleep. Stream hum its rhythme as always; fruit looked down from the tail of twigs; No one has ever taught them to mourn for life perishing.
Elly Gotman's body was found at noon, when water glimmered under sunlight and the temperature was ideal for swimmers. She wore the same garment last night she went to Grete, pale and peaceful, as if she fell into deep slumber. Long orange hair floated and reflected the warm light, trying to render its master some vigor. People dragged her body onto the shore, while somehow retreated her violin and put it beside her carefully. A funeral was going to be held soon as long as Ms. and Mr. Gotman was convinced their daughter's death.
What role, then, did Grete Samsa play in this sudden death? Once in a distant tale, a son jumped from the bridge and drowned himself obeying his father's verdict; In Gotman's case, Grete Samsa told her to drown herself if she wish during last night disputation, and though readers might assume options were given to Elly, putting ourselves in her shoe, we might soon be aware that this was a false mutiple choice question. Her freedom, as Gotman herself stated, was pure and uncontaminated, meaning that no compromise could be made confronting such a delimma; The only way to get out was to choose freedom, regradless what overplapped with. Of course, getting to this line, some would question the legitimacy of the argument above and dissented by proposing alternatives to death under that circumstances. Yet what must be stressed here was the undeniable distance between us and Elly Gotman herself; In other sense, people's mind were often found beyond scope of logic and caused failure of understanding sometimes, while life itself as an adverse form of the chaotic nature, it's end could sometimes attributed to newborn absurdity, which, has been also concerned as the root of failure of understanding.
However, Grete won't have a chace to engage in this convulent discussion. As she got up after hours without closing her eyes, question popped up out of blue, "What do you think of that drowned girl, Grete? " or "Are you guys friends? You may know shomething about her suicide. -Or do you think there's other possibilities that she was murdered? "
Yes, I'm her friend.
Yes, she really had a character.
Yes, we spent a lot of time together, and most of the time we played pieces she wrote.
Yes, of course, I didn't expect her death.Obviously.
Yes, her favorite flower is African rosemellow. I'll bring some on her funeral.
No, I don't know what caused her death.
No, I don't know why she drowned herself
No, I do know.
No, I'm not knowing.
No, thank you, please let the Gotman take their time.
No, Elly, I don't mean it...
No Elly anymore.
The funeral was held in dusk. The Gotman decided to bury their beloved daughter in the backyard and grew a daffodil flower on the top, so next summer she would have butterflies and bunblebees as her companion. Yet Grete had a strong sense telling her none of them would come, since Elly were not the same kind. Elly's violin, already soaked by water and slightly decayed on edges, was placed next to her hand. E string and A string was broken, though the bow seemed intact. It mattered not, since no one would use it any more.
A hole had already been dug in advance, a one suiting a young lady and her instrument very well. Poeple carefully move the body inside and covered it with white linen. Though people were warned to not touch the body, almost everyone ignored doctor's warning and some even kissed it on its forehead. In Grete's turn, she left a dozen of African rosemellow on Elly's chest. The touch still felt so real that for one moment she even thought it was warm and soft. What a fragmented day-dream.
On her way back she heard leaves hiss in the wind, and her schedule tomorrow to meet Albert Heisenberg Jr. and have lunch with him. Both of their parents would be there. She also heard father called Elly 'that woman' in strong contempt, followed by mother's blaming, suggesting he should not say this in Grete's face. She then heard them quarrel. She didn't remember a single word.
The pink sunshine was dissolving. It would be engulfed by darkness soon.
When she opened her eyes, it was the familiar fish-eye view. She couldn't move; She didn't have to move. She heard someone was at the door, probably the same people as last time, but she had no duty to answer. She lost connection with her toes and fingers, but why bothers? She didn't mean to make any sound, yet the syllabus simply escaped from her lips, if there are still such things. It's a musical note. She hum another, and it came a different one. She try to sing something a little more complete, and her mind was blank; she had no agitation, but only deep, long relief, as if the story enventually comes to an end. She sighed satisfiedly.
Maybe tomorrow when I wake up, I'll be a violin...No, I'm not gonna be a violin, but some day, I would become a violin. I'm not a violin tomorrow, probably the day after tomorrow. It's a matter of time. Yes, one day. someday.
In the turbulant dream, Grete Samsa decided she was destined to be a violin someday. Not today, not tomorrow; Either today, or tomorrow.
YOU ARE READING
Vilify a Violin
Tiểu Thuyết Chung**Works of NaNoWriNovm 2023** \\Grete Samsa decided to become a violin tomorrow morning when she woke up, long after Gregor's death
