The Color of Music

Chapter 1-I Must Take a Bow

"...Are you crying?"

I spat at him. "No," but I was.

My father raised his hand and my world caught on fire. It hit like asteroids onto earth. My face burned with bowl fulls of pain.

Yet I found myself feeling pity for the violin. It sat unused, with no tells of being played. No frayed strings, no nicks on the neck. It screamed through its S shaped holes.

I must take a bow or I have nothing to say.

But I wouldn't, so it said nothing.

"Play," His voice knew it was not to be reckoned with. And his eyes knew the games they played were always won. I couldn't help but put my hands on my cheeks to swat away the heat pooling from a bruise.

Again I cried, "I can't,"

I could feel the stupidity sit on me like guilt from a lie. Tomorrow I'll be strong. But that was a lie I had told myself the day before, a lie that was stinging the backs of my eyelids.

My father wasted no time pushing the bow back into my hands. The violin cried out again, I must take a bow, I must, I must. I looked anywhere but at my hands, frantic for release. But my dad was relentless, grabbing me by the arm and forcing them in position. The violin dug into my neck crudely. I felt my stiffness working against me.

"You will play, Sonata. Is that understood?" I counted ten seconds of silence before the timer in his patience ran out.

He wasn't mad at me, not enough to use strength, not enough to hit me like a stranger. Instead it was like paperwork, like chores, like greetings to relatives. Necessity. He walked in front of me and gave two quick jabs to my stomach. Heat spread through flesh and I wailed.

I must take a bow or I have nothing to say.

~~~~~~~~~

The clock reads 7:53 folks, and that's a.m not p.m am I right? Well I hope you've all grabbed your morning coffees and braced yourselves for the upcoming cold weather this week. Paired with that news we have a bit of gossip coming your way. The infamous Albon Academy of the Arts has its newest recruits coming on campus this morning among them the  heirs of the five infamous families—

I sat up in bed confused by striking voices and a jingle that sounded like it came from cereal commercial. On the nightstand sat a radio and a piece of folded card stock that reflected the sun. I didn't dare touch it. It was a note from dad, I knew the radio was put there as a reminder it was my first day of freshman year. My body was yelling as if it were starving to death.

I got out of bed and turned to my closet. On the hanger was the uniform. I wonder if dad came in personally to put it there with the radio and note. I look at my hands and wonder if my breaking fingers would get me out of this mess. No he'd make me a singer, or kill me.

I shut the radio off and (as calmly as someone could) smashed it on the edge of my nightstand. Then got ready. My uniform was a bit small for my form. I wasn't happy with the reminder I'm round in face and body.

A maid walked in the room with a tray.
"Good morning, I have breakfast. You look beautiful in your uniform,"

I don't return the smile, "It's–," My eyes trail to my figure. "It's too small,"

The maid sat the tray on the bed, "You look beautiful."

"You already said that," I didn't want to taste food, food seemed excessive.