The Virtuoso

Virtuoso: Act 1

"Death, is but a masterpiece... 

  just begging to be shown to the world..." 

    When I was much younger, I was raised surrounded by my elders. In a place run by only the wisest of men, you'd expect me to be some sort of 'loyal noble' within the higher powers. But alas, I am not... 

     Instead, I am locked away. Away for pursuing my dream, my passion, my... Art... 

    I've become well acquainted with this cell over these past few months; left to rot for creating my artistic vision. Everything can be beautiful, however it depends on how much work and... passion you put into it. The way some people expect things to happen without any input from themselves is just insulting. How can you achieve greatness without pouring your aching soul into every... single... drop... 

    Greatness is what I strive for, yes. For my name to be rung from every bell tower on this island. For my art to reach every man, woman, and child; whether it be by eyes or ears. I want to be shown in history books for all to see. Constant conversations surrounding my very name! I don't need much more time for this to happen; just one more action before my dreams truly become reality.

    However, before we take off on one most excellent adventure, I must first ask this question... 

"If your dreams left you in a place... a psyche too taboo for society to handle... would you still pour your soul into it..." 

    "Excuse me? Who gave you the right to speak out loud?"

    Oh yes I forgot... I'm still imprisoned in my cell. My visions rip me from my own reality sometimes I suppose... 

   " Keep your mouth shut unless spoken to ya bug, you're being put on the block for what you've done to this country and I for one can't wait to see your head roll."

    The man who just told me to shut my mouth would be one of the guards in this hellhole of a jail. These men rotate every few days, but I've been waiting for this one man in-particular to strike up a conversation with. You see, our families go far back with each other. His father and I were very well met at one point. It's a shame he met his end when he did, or else i'd still be out in the world creating my art...

    I raise from the dreary cot I've been laying on for what seems like hours now, and look around. The same color persists everywhere I look; the color I call void. No windows to give me light, nor a board to project my passion onto. Whenever I have the impulse for something, lets say read, my request gets denied. This depressing hole has imprisoned me for far too long, for my mind has begun to degrade much past where it once was. The only truly colorful thing that I can glance at is my fluorescent orange jumpsuit given to me when I arrived.

    I shuffle my way over to the brass bars that separate me from the rest of this prison. I lean forward, leaving my nose outside of my cell and take gander of the surrounding area. If It wasn't for the guard I would have thought this place was abandoned years ago. Dead paint crawling off the wall, moss and fungus growing through the floor; I would expunge it all. Everything would be gone. Burn everything to cinder and grow it anew. 

    Besides the moss and peeling paint, directional arrows point the way around the outside of my chamber.  Two arrows point to the left, mentioning a Lobby and Cell Block E. To the right holds three arrows. These point to the way of what seem to be Solitary 1 Locker, Solitary 2, and the Canteen.