The Magic of Music

Chapter 1

      The airy sound of my flute filled the room with the real beauty and grace of the Harry Potter Theme. To me, there were no other sounds in the room. Only the clickity-clack of the keys bouncing up and down as my fingers danced over them, and the song I was doing solo. I couldn't hear anything anymore, and my mind cleared focusing only on the wispy piece of sheet music permeated in my brain. Too soon, the song came to an end, and my music trailed off into the distance. People erupted into applause before my eyes and the bright spotlights blinded me. For once I felt perfect. People clapping and being proud of me for me, the yellow, white, and pink roses being thrown at my feet, the judges on their feet, amazed looks on their faces. I was proud of myself for making it this far... to the finals.

      "Serenity!!!!!!!!!!" Screeched a voice outside my door, my dad's fists pounding the wall.

      "I'll be right there..." I sighed, rolling out of bed and sliding my cold feet into a pair of fuzzy cat slippers.

      "Serenity! NOW!" hollered my dad, "there's some cold oatmeal sitting on the table for you. I'm going back to bed."

      I didn't respond and instead glanced out the window, where fluffy white flakes of snow were drifting to the ground and adding to already knee-deep piles. A tree coated with a thin film of sparkling snow wavered in the light breeze, and one of the lower branches shook as a fluffy chipmunk ran across it, climbing higher up the tree to a hollowed-out section and scurrying inside.

      "How beautiful can nature get?" I whispered to myself, letting my gaze drift over to the other side of my room where a dirty flute case sat gathering dust. I thought of the flute inside. Or what was left of it... a sparkling silver melody-maker transformed into a dusty, rusted brown stick that was snapped in half. I remember the day my dad broke it. The day all my dreams snapped in half like the instrument itself. I remember it like it was yesterday....

      He had been drinking. He had a girl with him. A girl I didn't know. A girl he had probably picked up from a club or that bar down the street. I had my flute in my hands. I was walking down the stairs, planning out what I was going to ask. I was going to ask him to take me to Los Angeles for the upcoming Americas Got Talent tryouts so that I could be on the show and possibly win. I knew that it was going to be hard, because if he got mad about me asking, AND he was drinking, he would beat me... like he had done before. I remember quickly looking down at the scars on my legs and wincing, remembering the pain. I never got over that beating, and all I had asked was "where's mommy?" I was five years old at the time.

      I recall getting closer to the living room and hearing the girl and my dad talking. He was drunk already, and as I peeked around the wall, I saw him sitting on the couch with her, a bottle of vodka in his hand, staring at her breasts. When I finally mustered up the courage to go talk to him, he exploded with rage, grabbing my flute out of my hands.

      "You know what I think of this!?" He hollered, "You know what I think about this stupid music!? This stupid little hobby?!"

      In one swift movement, he had snapped my flute in half and tossed it aside, not paying any attention to the look of horror on my face. "THAT is what I think of that stupid thing! It does nothing! You do nothing! You're worthless, and nobody will ever like your stupid music!!"

      I scrambled over to my flute, picking up the broken pieces and sobbing. "Mom got this for me! This was the only thing I had left of her!"

     "So, what?! Get over her! She's gone! She was an idiot for leaving. She never loved you!" Suddenly, the front door slammed shut, and the bar girl was gone.

      "Hey!! Come back!" he suddenly turned on me, eyes burning with rage. His tall figure towering over my cowering, small body. "You made her leave! You're a stupid girl!" He had grabbed his vodka bottle off the coffee table and flung it at my head. I remember scrambling out of the way just in time, picking up my broken flute and dashing up the stairs, still sobbing.

      My flashback disappeared suddenly, leaving me in my room with a tear rolling slowly down my cheek still staring at the dusty black case. The instrument inside more than a broken device. It symbolized a broken heart.