A Collection of Short Stories

One New Song

I looked outside through the clear window. The mountain loomed over my house, like a giant. Clouds cluster together, gliding through the air with it's newly formed wings, beating with a simple slow rhythm. Just like a simple harmony to accompany the beautiful melody. The sun brought down a harsh heat, trying to bring the world to a boil. Sweat lies on the back of my head, moving cautiously against my skin. A whistle from outside from a sparrow, dragged me into another world painted with the clearest enhanced colours. 

My pen hasn't lifted from the lines on the paper. 

My mind haven't decided on a simple thought. 

My eyes scanned the empty paper for any inspiration. Empty lines looked back at me. 

But there's nothing. 

I stood up in frustration. If I can't think of anything... this is really bad. Every time I sit in front of that paper, something will come to mind and I'll be able to write a beautiful piece that I'll never forget. But this is something new. Something took away my inspiration. Or is it that I'm in a dimension where I can't feel any melody connecting with the other world? 

Perhaps... 

I walked to the balcony and looked at the view. The clouds were still on their pursuit, slowly flying in the air against the cool breeze blowing from the west. Hair strands tickle my face as they waved and danced along the breeze's flute. The mountain, hard as rock, stood over me. I could hear it's wheezy voice saying: you need patience. I wanted to shout back in answer, I had no patience that there's something wrong with me, but I got to respect the elders of the planet. The birds perched on the wire cables, singing an out-tuned melody, but with a firm rhythm. One of the birds spread its wings and flapped frantically, as if to escape the screeching of a melody.  The sun is still high up in the sky, looking down at us humans with hatred, wanting to burn the world, wanting to crush the Earth to a ruble of ashes. The sun held dominance of the sky, and plants held dominance of the soil, and me, held no dominance except an empty container with no simple idea. 

A melody suddenly came into my head. A soft beginning with the bass playing the long note and a fluttering melody from the piano to begin the piece to showcase the view of nature. The melody twists and turns like a wind road as it explores the ways of how nature grows. From the plants to grow in the path of sunlight, how a flower turns into a flower, the falling of leaves, swaying until it touches the ground, how the river flows with efficiency carrying lost memories of ones, to the sea flows into the beyond until it reaches the ends of the Earth. Everything is depicted inside the melody. 

But surely there must be a conflict. A darkness to erase the light. An evil to wipe out the good. 

So the melody turns darker, turning major to minor. The bass begins to weave a dark web of a spider with it's enchanting arpeggios. A thunder in the wake! A sharp accent and a scale of octaves to bestow the mighty lightning striking it's sword from the sky. Such royalty, such power shown by the lightning, a flash in the sky, as fast as light. The sea began to roll violently, crashing on the bays with powerful strokes, with the intent to destroy. Lightning and sea began to dance against the drum of the thunder, clashing against each other, unleashing a power of destruction. Trees, unable to stand still, began to sway against the strong wind, like backstage dancers. Leaves began to rip out of their branches, riding a rollercoaster in the whoosh of the wind. The melody dances along the destruction, keeping it at bay with dissonances, while the bass begins to overpower the melody by trapping it in its web of vicious nature. 

The piece doesn't end here. The journey is not done. 

Everything clears, and it comes back to the melody from the beginning. The sea and the clouds began to separate ways, waiting for their next moment of destruction. The sea turns into a calm rocking cradle, pushing soft waves on the bays through the help of the soft breeze. The clouds began to vanish into water, running off hills and trees and back into the water. New clouds starts to form as invisible water droplets rose into the air with renowned strength. The strong wind began to transform into a calm wind, brushing the fallen leaves off the battlefield. Plants and animals began to come out of their shelters after the battle. The whole thing begins again, like the cycle of life. 

The piece ends with a soft cadence. My hands left the keys with soft trembling actions. 

I have imagined this music in my head, that I unconsciously walked to the piano at the corner of my room. The music began to replay in my mind, as a remembrance of a lost memory. I began to cradle the music like it was my precious offspring, my only rare jewel. 

The sheet has been finally filled. My pen scratched the paper with raw unknown strength. Notes appear on my sheet of paper, each one alive and painted with colour. I could feel their wishes as I create them: Will you play our song that binds us together? Like how a family embraces a lost one, how something lost has been found? Will you be our one great person, greater than God, that will unleash our raw untamed power to the unknown world? 

I pondered their thoughts until I reached the end of the piece. I rested the pen on my table, mentally thanking for its ink to write the piece. 

There was one thing missing. The title. 

The title of a piece is one of the hardest to create. The title summarises the feeling of the entire piece. It may sound simple for making a symphonies or sonatas, but this is a piece that has no features of the two. It's a piece created by a world covered in nature inside my heart. Such a fairytale can't be forgotten. 

The music began to unravel it's secret through the veil of notes, the title that I should choose. Simple and concise. No flowery words or extravagant taste of vocabulary. 

I wrote in cursive script: A Nature Fantasy. 

A kingdom is waiting for me to guide it's destiny to greatness. The notes looked back at me, crotchets, quavers, semiquavers, minims and semibreves, waiting for my beckoning. The piano reassured me for my great idea. 

And above all, the nature waits for my choice. 

I whispered to the sheets, the piano, and the view outside, hoping Mother Nature would listen to me, " Yes. "