A Bleeding Violin

Brisk was the air, in this serene setting that she sat in. Peaceful and while most would consider quiet, it was all but that. Here there was the hums and sounds of life, a rhythm, and flow that came and brought a calm solace to those who could appreciate it’s beauty. Upon the shore of the lake, she sat, the gentle lapping of waves there against the large boulder she took perch upon.

This little spot of heaven was tucked away from the usual camping spots. It’s path lay hidden and only those with claws and hooves tended to find the place. Yet here she was, long black skirt draped around her and that boulder, black lacy blouse that helped protect her skin from the sun that shone so brightly.

Her skin was pale and no doubt she may burn if she were to linger for too long a time. Her black hair pulled back in a neat tight braid as she to keep it out of the way. Colorless she seemed in a world of color, black and white against a rainbow. All except those deep blue eyes she had with their specks of green.

Those orbs of color looked into the calm waters as she sat there before a hand lay upon the blackened case that was warming in the sun. She opened it finally and revealed the instrument of her choice, it was a little worn and weathered, aged through the years clearly. But even so, it was lovingly cared for by the polished look it had.

Her small hands took hold of the violin with care, and though she was small this device fit her perfectly. Perhaps not custom made, but a smaller version than those used in a symphony. Adjustments were made as she settled how she was sitting, polished wood resting between shoulder and chin as her other hand carefully pulled the bow from the case.

This was where she came to play. This was where she came to bleed. This was where she let the truth take flight upon the wind where only natures wild things thrived and bear witness. As bow drew across string she started with a soft pull and the melody sang in gentle sorrow.

Abstract was the creation in which she expressed herself. With this, there were no words because words could not bring justice to that which she felt inside. Rise and fall of its melody their strings sang of sorrow and joy. Of fears and hopes. Of truths and lies. The song swirled and flowed, it rose and fell, and as the melody swelled within her, so it spilled out as she played.

Eyes soon closed as she let her own song drive her. As she let the emotions, the turmoil, the haunting darkness all drift out into the air. Here in the brightness of the sun, she played. A phantom or perhaps wraith against the surrounding beauty that she found solace in. Here were safety and solitude.

Yet even with comfort that came in its privacy, there lacing the entirety of its song was a longing, a yearning, loneliness to which she played. Through this, it should be noted that the sounds she let drift upon the wind were not that of an amateur. Nor was her need for solitude to play by any means a reflection to her level of skill. No, she did not hide for fear she couldn’t play, she hid because she could. She hid because this was a moment she let herself lay bare, she let herself be, she let the mask fall.

This scene might have been more fitting under the moonlight with her attire, but it was the sunlight that made it possible. The sunlight that bathed her and gave her the strength to let it go even here miles from civilization. It had taken her over two hours to walk to this place, far from the camping grounds and into the thicker forests that people generally didn’t dare tread.

Yet she was comfortable among the wild and beasts, the natural predators in which called this untamed place home. There was no fear for her here, unlike with civilization where she had fear and anxiety eat away at her very soul. No here was peace, and that was the look upon her features as she played.

A peaceful look, even as expressions may have played upon her features for all that she bled out with that little violin, she was still at peace. Cradling the instrument to her in gentle sway while she played a song by her own heart and soul. Time passed by and she took no heed to it, time meant nothing for her at this moment, only the haunting and beautiful melody that rose from those well-worn strings.