The Oneshot Collective
Performance
The chords sliding under her fingers felt like heaven.
"Is this how he felt when he played?" She admitted to herself that there was something undeniably sensual about how metal strings slipped under her fingertips like silk. This was the first time she had played in a long time, her callouses all but gone from years of neglect. Yet when she picked up that beautiful guitar it was like welcoming a well missed lover back into her arms. The rich tones and elegant riffs flowing like the blood in her veins.
For hours she played, played until what was left of her callouses was worn away. Fingers raw and bleeding, she let the final chord fade away. The white noise became the deafening cheers and shared tears of an audience. Face wet, she tossed her hair out of her eyes--dyed a violent shade of pink for the occasion.
"We will always remember. So don't forget us." The lights went out and she walked off stage, tears still streaming down her face--she didn't care enough to notice. Pats on the back, smiling somber faces saying "congratulations" and that she had done well. She only stopped to hug two people. The only two she considered close enough to share this moment with. Hugs, tears, and laughter rang out in the narrow hallway as the taller one took the guitar from her.
"No, I want to hold onto it a while longer," he let her, warning her to take care of her hands first. She nodded, studying the red metal chords.
"Bleed it out, ne?" Her shorter companion said, offering a towel.
"Yeah, I feel..." she paused, thinking about it. How did she feel after that (heartbreaking) performance.
"Better," it was a statement, not a question from her taller friend.
"Better, peaceful. Like the first time I listened to Feel." A good natured "punch" from the tall one then she embraced them both.
He Lives still
In dream
In heart
He Lives
In tears
In joy
He's there
In wind
In water
He'll always be here
In us
Around us
Always (Zutto)
"Is this how he felt when he played?" She admitted to herself that there was something undeniably sensual about how metal strings slipped under her fingertips like silk. This was the first time she had played in a long time, her callouses all but gone from years of neglect. Yet when she picked up that beautiful guitar it was like welcoming a well missed lover back into her arms. The rich tones and elegant riffs flowing like the blood in her veins.
For hours she played, played until what was left of her callouses was worn away. Fingers raw and bleeding, she let the final chord fade away. The white noise became the deafening cheers and shared tears of an audience. Face wet, she tossed her hair out of her eyes--dyed a violent shade of pink for the occasion.
"We will always remember. So don't forget us." The lights went out and she walked off stage, tears still streaming down her face--she didn't care enough to notice. Pats on the back, smiling somber faces saying "congratulations" and that she had done well. She only stopped to hug two people. The only two she considered close enough to share this moment with. Hugs, tears, and laughter rang out in the narrow hallway as the taller one took the guitar from her.
"No, I want to hold onto it a while longer," he let her, warning her to take care of her hands first. She nodded, studying the red metal chords.
"Bleed it out, ne?" Her shorter companion said, offering a towel.
"Yeah, I feel..." she paused, thinking about it. How did she feel after that (heartbreaking) performance.
"Better," it was a statement, not a question from her taller friend.
"Better, peaceful. Like the first time I listened to Feel." A good natured "punch" from the tall one then she embraced them both.
He Lives still
In dream
In heart
He Lives
In tears
In joy
He's there
In wind
In water
He'll always be here
In us
Around us
Always (Zutto)