And Her Fingers Danced Across The Keys
Chapter 2
As shades of nightly blue reached the horizons around their house, a wave of passion washed over the beautiful lady, Angelina.
Without hesitation, she bore herself upstairs to her suite. Out on the balcony, the chilly breeze caressed the piano, it sang a song to entertain the musical instrument, lonely without its mistress. But as the mistress appeared, all wind, all breeze, all movement seemed to be sure ceased and the Piano rested silent, longing for its mistress's fingers to be laid on it.
It was such a unique piano... as if it had its own personality, as if it actually had an individuality. It did, it had the individuality printed on it, all over it, the personality and individuality of its owner, the Sun goddess, or the 17-year-old female teenager named Angelina.
When finally she started the apparently simple mechanism of pressing some keys to create what ever-so many would call magic, a roll and swirl of supreme sounds took advantage of all air, of all light, of all minds. It seemed to cease meaning to life without those sounds, all light and all dark disappeared, all pain and all sorrow were gone, as that instrument, which appeared to have borrowed the magical something from its mistress, moaned and laughed, and cried and screamed along with the soul inside the girl.
Every feeling, every thought, every idea was multiplied thousands and thousands of times, by sounds that were mournful or joyful, addictive, or horribly great, attractive in the most lugubrious way people could think of. It expressed an attractivity susceptible of drug-like substances, it called, it longed, it cried out loud, it hypnotized.
After hours, or seconds, or whatever it may have been, for time stopped existing too, the sounds stopped suddenly, with a loud thump. After what was a trance, Angelina abruptly opened her eyes and sat up straight. Her pupil dilated strongly within the tenth part of a second. Her full lips started trembling, and it rolled down. A tear descended from her honey-like eyes, dark without the sunlight, on her cheek, onto her lips.
"Mother." her trembling voice muttered.
Annoyed at this apparent weakness, she quickly licked her lips, making the dreadful salty water disappear without a trace, back into her body.
The incident bothered her to no end. The bastard memory of that woman infuriated her. She had been well forgotten, and that was the way it was supposed to be.
The girl meant to play no more music that night and went to her bed, throwing herself onto it, off to an uneasy sleep. Sense-less, broken images and ridiculous messages haunted her dreams. She opened her eyes, surprised not to see a yellow light bouncing all the way to her face. It was still night. Angelina knew that those dreams were no happening. It seemed to be because she had stopped playing so suddenly. She had left her piano incontent.
Therefore, the girl did not hesitate to run back to the piano, in the bloody heart of the night and play her heart out. Pitiful, but extraordinarily beautiful cries of pain under the shape and form of musical notes were released. The song was so mournful that soon, she could contain herself no more, and so she played with her cheeks soaked in tears for a good while.
She only stopped when her fingers had gone numb and tiny drops of blood emerged from some of them. She gave her final effort for that time with a handful of notes played tragically beautiful.
Back to her bed, as she admired the rays of light that started invading the room, she damned the memory that came to her only hours before.
"She is no mother of mine!" she softly screamed as her eyes finally shut, exhausted and sent her into a dreamless sleep.
Without hesitation, she bore herself upstairs to her suite. Out on the balcony, the chilly breeze caressed the piano, it sang a song to entertain the musical instrument, lonely without its mistress. But as the mistress appeared, all wind, all breeze, all movement seemed to be sure ceased and the Piano rested silent, longing for its mistress's fingers to be laid on it.
It was such a unique piano... as if it had its own personality, as if it actually had an individuality. It did, it had the individuality printed on it, all over it, the personality and individuality of its owner, the Sun goddess, or the 17-year-old female teenager named Angelina.
When finally she started the apparently simple mechanism of pressing some keys to create what ever-so many would call magic, a roll and swirl of supreme sounds took advantage of all air, of all light, of all minds. It seemed to cease meaning to life without those sounds, all light and all dark disappeared, all pain and all sorrow were gone, as that instrument, which appeared to have borrowed the magical something from its mistress, moaned and laughed, and cried and screamed along with the soul inside the girl.
Every feeling, every thought, every idea was multiplied thousands and thousands of times, by sounds that were mournful or joyful, addictive, or horribly great, attractive in the most lugubrious way people could think of. It expressed an attractivity susceptible of drug-like substances, it called, it longed, it cried out loud, it hypnotized.
After hours, or seconds, or whatever it may have been, for time stopped existing too, the sounds stopped suddenly, with a loud thump. After what was a trance, Angelina abruptly opened her eyes and sat up straight. Her pupil dilated strongly within the tenth part of a second. Her full lips started trembling, and it rolled down. A tear descended from her honey-like eyes, dark without the sunlight, on her cheek, onto her lips.
"Mother." her trembling voice muttered.
Annoyed at this apparent weakness, she quickly licked her lips, making the dreadful salty water disappear without a trace, back into her body.
The incident bothered her to no end. The bastard memory of that woman infuriated her. She had been well forgotten, and that was the way it was supposed to be.
The girl meant to play no more music that night and went to her bed, throwing herself onto it, off to an uneasy sleep. Sense-less, broken images and ridiculous messages haunted her dreams. She opened her eyes, surprised not to see a yellow light bouncing all the way to her face. It was still night. Angelina knew that those dreams were no happening. It seemed to be because she had stopped playing so suddenly. She had left her piano incontent.
Therefore, the girl did not hesitate to run back to the piano, in the bloody heart of the night and play her heart out. Pitiful, but extraordinarily beautiful cries of pain under the shape and form of musical notes were released. The song was so mournful that soon, she could contain herself no more, and so she played with her cheeks soaked in tears for a good while.
She only stopped when her fingers had gone numb and tiny drops of blood emerged from some of them. She gave her final effort for that time with a handful of notes played tragically beautiful.
Back to her bed, as she admired the rays of light that started invading the room, she damned the memory that came to her only hours before.
"She is no mother of mine!" she softly screamed as her eyes finally shut, exhausted and sent her into a dreamless sleep.
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Okay, so don't mind me saying but you people are subscribing and not saying one thing about the story. I'm not accusing anyone, but not one of the subscribers has said a thing.