A Sour Note from Left Field

A Sour Note from Left Field

Book_Nerd_Shadow

Reads 20
Votes 2
Parts 2

Ongoing8m

Last published Fri, Jul 1, 2016

Fiction

Social Themes

Tagsdistopian high-school music musician

"When I play I don't feel anything, I'm free." That is how everyone in my family would describe athletics. But I doesn't feel that, when I hears the word "sport," I think, boring, useless, and painful. I do feel free whenever I'm playing my violin. The thing is I'm not supposed to be playing instruments. I took one away when I was six and if they find out I might not be able to transfer out of Pila tomorrow. ______________________________________________________________________________ Meet Melody (Mel) Rogers, the musician? In Mel's country you get labeled into two groups, that decide your job and education. Pilla's are people who are physically trained and normal get sent to work in the military or police departments. Or Cantatio, people who learn the art of music and performance. Typically people follow what ever group there parents are in but Mel knows she's Cantatio but she has grown up in a household of Pila's. She is what they would call a prodigy with music but it's illegal for her to even touch an instrument. So how does she know she's so good? ______________________________________________________________________________ Okay so if ANY of this connects to your life, names, schools, issues, ect. Then I'm compleatly sorry. None of this is based off anything (especially names). Updates on Friday

All Rights Reserved

Join the largest storytelling communityGet personalized story recommendations, save your favourites to your library, and comment and vote to grow your community.

You may also like

{COMPLETED} "now that you've had your fun electrocuting me, would you care to hop in the backseat?" ---------------------------------------------------------- Freak DNA. That's what I like to call it. The fault to my genetic code. More often than not, it's a curse. The static running through my blood gave me a name. A cruel, daunting label of a measly bug. A roach. That's what I am to them, to the government. Roach; the nameless monster with electricity for a sense and lightening as a second nature. It ruined my life, the sparking currents playing tag in my mind, running around and bumping into everything, shaking me loose. The government, actually. They ruined my life. My curse just gave them a reason. You see, the normal population with ordinary DNA, they don't know about the people like me. The roaches of the world. We don't get that kind of recognition at the camps. There, we are only one thing in the military's eyes. We are weapons and we will act like it. Everyone else out there, bathing in the goodness they don't know they've got, they don't know about the roaches their stepping on. As long as their getting closer to the sky, they don't care what they stand on to reach it. They don't know about the sparkling dreamer that's killed 7 people before her 17th birthday. They don't about the ghost of a girl peaking around corners for her entire life because even home wasn't safe. They don't know about the fighter of steel and iron sucking on his bloody lip courtesy of the wars he battles in as nothing but a shadow. They don't know about the masked villain who would do anything to see the army they lead claim the throne They don't know about us. But they will, because we will rise. And when we arrive, we will arrive violently. ___________________________________________ Started: 10.06.15 Finished: 3.17.16

Content Guidelines