Puddles

Wishful Thinking

A boy sits alone, center stage, eyes cast downwards, fingers flying over the keyboard of his phone. He appears to be sending a message to someone; and with one final tap, the boy turns off the screen of his phone with a sigh. He draws his knees to himself, resting his chin on his right knee. 

From the end of the room, by the doors, you would be able to feel the torrent of thoughts, a loud fortissimo in a world written in pianissimo. His thoughts are his dynamics, his life the composition, and his heart the metronome. Sometimes, he appears to be the only one with loud thoughts, the only one suffering in a world of clones of the people he once passed by. 

His thoughts proceeded to crash against one another, like salty waves in a harsh sea storm. A flutter of pain flitted across his face, and it's very obvious that he's trying to forcefully quiet the thoughts, even for a minute. 

He didn't know why he was feeling tormented, but he was. He was feeling choked, not only by the raging thoughts in his head, but by the people outside the doors of this makeshift sanctuary. HIs head pounded with each thought hitting another, and he now squeezed his eyes shut, taking even breaths. 

Wishful thinking was the cause of these pain inducing thoughts. All of the wishful thinking he had done had caused him a world of hurt, the deep, sorrow filled tune of a cello. He knows he'll have to get up soon and go somewhere else, people will want to go inside. But for the moment, he's in the building all by himself, flying solo. 

Once upon a time, he'd been a hope filled, and admittedly, a naive person, dreams on the horizon and happiness in his hands. Then, when his friends started wordlessly leaving him, dropping like flies, each hope, each dream shattered, pain piercing like shards of glass sticking in his skin. 

The happiness he had grasped from his childhood to the day it all started crashing down tasted like that of an overly carbonated drink, and it looked like the fireworks on the fourth of July.

And now, all the wondrous melodies of doscorded scales that were once taking place in the people around him, had vanished, the breaths halted fromt he wind instruments, the bows lifted of the string instruments. Almost as though a metaphorical switch had been switched to the 'off' position, shutting off each individuals music, and with it, their personality.

So, he sat under the one stage light. Though he was starting to get uncomfortably warm under the light, he made no attempt to move.

Through the noise of his thoughts, he nursed a lonely feeling settling in the pit of his stomach, and along with it, a growing sense of despair.

At last, he stands up, and all the noise filled, clashing melodies stopped. Taking a deep breath for encouragement, he walked over to the doorway of the concert hall and pushed open.

And he stepped in the broken world of black and white, determined to set things right once more.

A/N~yo guys, yes again, a long wait for part of my English project. The project ends in two weeks, with a final presentation. To be honest, I'm gonna be sad to see this thing end, because it's just for a project. So, I might just end up updating it even after the project ends. I'm gonna try to write another short story and publish it either tonight or tomorrow, so keep your eyes out for that. And as always, if you have any suggestions you would like to see, let me know by commenting!