My Creative Writing Journal

BLOT

(I have no memory as to why we were suppose to name the title like that. It was some sort of acronym I think?)

The familiar, beautiful, chilling tune returned the greeting. The greeting I had hesitantly spoken after I arrived at the long gone memory. This particular tune was my favorite. This tune was friendly. This tune never hurt me, only warned me. Warned me when the bad notes were coming, the ones who liked to hurt me. I was gone for a very long time, after a bad tune broke me. It had rough sounds, high pitched squeals that made the core of me rattle with fear. The nice tune tried intervening but the bad one wouldn't let me go. Piece by piece I broke apart until the terrible sound left. I heard my familiar tune weep, saddened by my state. Though it seemed to say I can be fixed over time, I had my doubts. Months later, I was proven wrong. The gentle note fixed me. Though, the tune wasn't as perky as usual. It seemed that it gave all it had into me. I vowed to give back. The bad sounds never came back, only more mature, unfamiliar sounds, but my beautiful tune was the only one who came near me. In years, the sound and I found a whole sea of notes, , but they quieted at the entry of us. My note sounded strange, scared. I didn't know how to help, so I simply gave my own sound of encouragement. Then, my tune cleared up, and we sang together. My perfect musician, and I, her violin.

(Fun fact, this entry started as someone in an insane asylum, but I decided I didn't like the dark streak I was writing with for the past few entries, so I changed it into a violin's perspective. Can y'all tell where the switch happened?)