A Neurological Hurricane

A Nebulous Melody

A night-dweller, that's how they called her. The day was something she did not know, though, she did not want to know it. Daylight scared her, even though it's named as gentle and caring. But the Sun wasn't her best friend.

The loneliness Darkness brought along was terrifying, too. It sent a chilling, achy shiver across the empty atriums and chambers of her black heart.

A lonely, silver teardrop rolled along the curve of the girl's cheek, leaving a damp trail of evaporating sadness behind. More tears followed, though they weren't hers. The sky cried along, raindrops lacing her long hair and dampening the hooded jumper she wore.

Go away, was all she could think and, as if on-cue, the cloud deck departed slowly.

Her eyes held entire constellations, her hair forming a nebulae curtain before them. Purple, blue and black hues danced in the wind of the night that came through the open window of the opera hall. In the centre stood a grand piano, and her fingers gently, gracefully, played the keys of the instrument. Soft notes and tunes filled the atmosphere.

Go out and paint the stars, Van Gogh once said. She was in desperate need of light, for her life revolted around the dark side of the moon. She could not paint, for her eyes couldn't see. So she painted with sound.

Sharps and flats filled the thin air that hung in the hall, making it somewhat easier to breathe in. With every breath she drew, her confidence grew.

Her fingers danced the well-practiced choreography, written out by notes she couldn't read. It eased her mind into a relaxed state, and she truly enjoyed the sound of it.

She wasn't even aware anymore that it were her movements that caused a melody to form.

Blindly, she played the piano, until the last note lingered a bit longer than a human would discern.