Post by behindTHEmask on Nov 11, 2005 18:59:05 GMT -8
Ooc;; I grew a little fond of this character over the night. I'd like to see if I can take him even farther.
Bic;;
The piano notes echoed off the walls, the windows, the doors, the tables – everything. They played a melody of love and hope that someday, it would conquer the world – everything that stood against it, and everything that tried to kill it.
“Infamous, glorious, say goodnight to the beauty,
Hello to the world,
To me,
To him,
To her,
To you.
Open the doors you’ve passed through,
Remind yourself how you came,
How you found me
And I stumbled into you.”
The young boy in front of the piano shook his head, a piece of brown hair falling across his forehead. A thick ‘x’ traveled through the letter, big black words spelled ‘clichéd’ across his paper. He didn’t like it. The words didn’t deserve his melody. They didn’t deserve to live.
He stared at the paper, traced the blue lines crossing perpendicular into pink. A sigh rolled lightly off his lips. The boy was in need of a stronger inspiration, another fight, another make up, another moment he wanted to turn into another. He was hopeless really, just wanting some sort of romance to write a song – to create a story to set hope for a generation, a face in the crowd.
Tucking the pencil behind his ear, he rubbed the back of his neck. Nothing was coming to him, nothing was striking him as amazing, original. Maybe a walk would do him some good.
He slipped his arms into the sleeves of his coat as he walked out the door, zipping the leather up to his neck. The frozen air was warming itself at the season. Winter to spring. It was a time to come alive, a time to open your heart for feeling.
There was a local band playing at the local college ‘spot’ – the only bar in town that wasn’t swarming with older men looking for something more than their wife – he’d thought he’d check out. The lead singer used to go to high school with him.
High school. God that was ages ago.
Twenty-one years old, and Ryan Evans was still trying to grab something from life. Something more than just a job that makes him a living. That wasn’t his style, he never felt corporate suits looked decent on him.
Opening the door, smoke ran into his face. Pleasant, he thought, sitting down on a stool at the bar. He ordered a drink he wasn’t even sure was. A piano was being played on stage, but the boy being played was a better word for it. The piano had control over him and the sound produced, it was far more amazing than lyrics could obtain. Far more.
Bic;;
The piano notes echoed off the walls, the windows, the doors, the tables – everything. They played a melody of love and hope that someday, it would conquer the world – everything that stood against it, and everything that tried to kill it.
“Infamous, glorious, say goodnight to the beauty,
Hello to the world,
To me,
To him,
To her,
To you.
Open the doors you’ve passed through,
Remind yourself how you came,
How you found me
And I stumbled into you.”
The young boy in front of the piano shook his head, a piece of brown hair falling across his forehead. A thick ‘x’ traveled through the letter, big black words spelled ‘clichéd’ across his paper. He didn’t like it. The words didn’t deserve his melody. They didn’t deserve to live.
He stared at the paper, traced the blue lines crossing perpendicular into pink. A sigh rolled lightly off his lips. The boy was in need of a stronger inspiration, another fight, another make up, another moment he wanted to turn into another. He was hopeless really, just wanting some sort of romance to write a song – to create a story to set hope for a generation, a face in the crowd.
Tucking the pencil behind his ear, he rubbed the back of his neck. Nothing was coming to him, nothing was striking him as amazing, original. Maybe a walk would do him some good.
He slipped his arms into the sleeves of his coat as he walked out the door, zipping the leather up to his neck. The frozen air was warming itself at the season. Winter to spring. It was a time to come alive, a time to open your heart for feeling.
There was a local band playing at the local college ‘spot’ – the only bar in town that wasn’t swarming with older men looking for something more than their wife – he’d thought he’d check out. The lead singer used to go to high school with him.
High school. God that was ages ago.
Twenty-one years old, and Ryan Evans was still trying to grab something from life. Something more than just a job that makes him a living. That wasn’t his style, he never felt corporate suits looked decent on him.
Opening the door, smoke ran into his face. Pleasant, he thought, sitting down on a stool at the bar. He ordered a drink he wasn’t even sure was. A piano was being played on stage, but the boy being played was a better word for it. The piano had control over him and the sound produced, it was far more amazing than lyrics could obtain. Far more.
