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Post by Aera Adiya on Feb 8, 2012 18:23:00 GMT -5
 x  x  Hold on, baby you're losing it
The water's high, you're jumping into it
And letting go, and no one knows
That you cry, but you don't tell anyone
That you might not be the golden one
And you're tied together with a smile
But you're coming undoneIt felt strange to be sitting on this stage, to sit on this stage and think about all the times she wouldn't be able to have. She wouldn't be able to sing in front of a crowd and listen to their screams, she wouldn't be able to stand in awe as they gave their love to her, she wouldn't be able to hear them sing the words to the songs she wrote. She was in her opaque, human form, which she could remain in forever, and she could even try to live out her dream...but it wouldn't last. Eventually people would realize she wasn't getting older, that she never ate, that she never slept. And she knew if she had a taste of the fame she was supposed to have, it would be even worse leaving it, so maybe it was best to just stay here and dream of what could've been.
She wondered why she couldn't just die...that would be preferable. Why hadn't she just died? Obviously not everyone became a ghost, because then there would be a lot more people on the planet. So why had she become one? Why was she doomed to walk the world that could've been hers? Why did she have to be constantly reminded that she would never been remembered, in life or in death? She'd had the chance to read her own obituary. All it said was that a "young and talented woman died tragically in a car accident." Talented. Just talented. Not "the brilliant and gifted songwriter, Aera Aniya Adiya, died today in a car crash, much to the great dismay of her hundreds of millions of fans!" How depressing.
She stood center stage in a strong stance, facing an imaginary crowd of die-hard fans who were just waiting for her to strum the first chords on the guitar she held. They were holding their breaths, and some were just losing it and screaming. She held them in suspense, gazing out of them with eyes of joy that were really eyes of sadness, and then she began, strumming violently but sweetly, and singing the words to a chorus she had written:
"I don't need love for longer than forever
I don't need it stronger than a thousand suns
I just need love
Simply love
Isn't that good enough?"
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Post by Sebastian Kendrick on Mar 27, 2012 19:49:13 GMT -5
Merlin wanted to hold a concert. A nice, fun student concert where the students could sing whatever they wanted. Of course, the rest of the board hadn't gone for that, so he had to make all sorts of things official, sign rain forests-worth of paperwork and follow some rules. Okay, fine, so the spotlight had to be on the "serious vocal students" and they had to make everyone else feel smaller, because that made all the sense in the world. But that didn't mean he would give into the ridiculousness, so he was going to go right ahead with his concert and soon all the kids in the school would love and worship him and he'd be the coolest teacher ever. In fact, he'd be like the young, cool uncle. That adult figure that all the kids looked up and too and saw as sort of a friend...at once.
Alas, things had not gone according to plan at the school, lately. Merlyn was treated like he was their peer in middle school. They had made fun of his name, they made fun of his makeup, they made fun of his hair, of his teaching style, they even made fun of his boots...they were cool boots! But he slaved away for them anyway.
He was in the smaller of the two "concert halls", which was really just a glorified stage. He had come here with intentions of checking the acoustics, which would determine whether or not he wanted to get microphones and how many microphones he would need to request from the department (not that they would make it easy for him to get them, but that was another story). But on the bright side of all the thankless toil he had been going through for the benefit of the sophisticated young men and women spoiled brats, the building hadn't been freaking him out. Since he had arrived at the school, ever building in the school had played tricks on his eyes, unsettling him. It was almost like the place was...haunted.
Of course, someone had beaten him too it. A girl, a student, was strumming her guitar onstage and Merlyn stopped to listen. She was good. No opera star, but her voice had a current sort of twang to it, giving her character. She had charisma, too, even in front of her imaginary crowd. Merlyn liked her, of course, seeing as he liked about everyone, until they did something to him. So he waited until she had finished her song before approaching her, climbing onto the stage next to her.
"You're good."
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Post by Aera Adiya on Mar 27, 2012 20:30:07 GMT -5
When she sang and played, her whole body seemed to radiate with joy, the music pulsed through her body like a second heart, one that would never be broken. It was hard to imagine any other path her life would've taken her on. What if she had listened to her parents, and had studied to become a doctor? She would've still been in med school, and probably still alive...alive but dead at the same time. It wasn't that she didn't care about helping people, but that was better left to people who'd always wanted to become a doctor. She, on the other hand, had always wanted to become a singer. She sang, she played guitar and piano, and some other random instruments, but most importantly, using all of those things, she wrote songs about love and life...and now, the love and life she would never have.
Her voice stopped and she started playing a new tune, this one sadder, in minor key. That was the main different between her living songs and her post-living songs, one was major and one wasn't. In fact, everything about her seemed to change when she switched into minor key, because her life echoed through her music, and minor was known for its sad, eerie tone.
"I used to breathe the wine of life
In a glass that was half full
The road led on and on
To a garden full of joy
Full of fruit
That I will never taste
Now I'm a pale shadow
Destined to walk backwards
Not even the rain can hit me
But I was happy, I was happy
The glass is now empty
I'll read your letters
Written on the wall
While I write the patterns
Of criss-crossed frost on your window
Feel the chill
That I will never feel
Now I'm a pale shadow
Destined to walk backwards
Not even the rain can hit me
But I was happy, I was happy
The glass is now empty
Tell me, when you look into the storm
Can you see my eyes searching for the wine?
But now I'm a pale shadow
Destined to walk backwards
Not even the rain can hit me
But I was happy, I was happy
The glass is now empty
It's empty now."
[/i] She let the last note hang etherealy in the air. If there was one bittersweet thing about what had happened to her, it was that it did really great things to her voice. Sounding like, and being a ghost, really gave her a good opportunity for sad, creepy songs. But then she felt something...like she was being watched. Normally, this would've scared her, but by now she knew there was nothing you could do to make a dead person more dead, so at least she had nothing to be afraid of. No, she was more scared that whatever person it was would steal her song, or something like that, so she turned around in a huff, not expecting to see what she did. They were a young man...probably a bit older than her, dressed very peculiarly, maybe he was an actor, but in that case, this was the wrong stage. His flattery was very welcome though, she knew she had earned it, but it was nonetheless nice to hear the proper words come from another person. It validated all the effort she put into making beautiful music. And somehow he seemed to get what the song meant, how it wasn't just some ordinary, angsty teenage depression song. There were plenty of those on the market and there really didn't need to be anymore of them, and she would not be the one to fall into that easy habit. No, this song was something more than that, because it was actual suffering, she thought bitterly. "Thank you," she said classily, seeing as praise would always be well-recieved by her, no matter who a person was or how strange they were. Any audience was a good audience, and, had she lived, it wouldn't have mattered to her if she had made any money off her music, only if people listened to it and let her know that they appreciated the effort she put into it. Yes, that would always be enough.[/blockquote][/blockquote][/size] |
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Post by Sebastian Kendrick on Mar 27, 2012 20:58:32 GMT -5
"Of course," Merlyn said, with a smile as he extended his hand toward her. "I'm Professor Kendrick, I teach musical theater. What's your major?"
Every word was sweet and without agenda, other than the man praying...well, that praying, he refused to pray to anyone or anything anymore. Meditating was as religious as he got anymore and he made sure that things didn't get any more serious than that. Anyway, all he wanted from her was to get her to like him. Even though the little brats throughout the school had given him a "warm welcome", he was still clean and unjaded, a virgin teacher. He wasn't after ratings, he didn't need her approval and he sure as spooky Mormon hell didn't want to sleep with her, no matter how pretty she was--a woman and a student...the double strike.
"You play well, too." He added, gesturing to her guitar. "May I?"
It had been awhile, about a week, to be precise, since he had last said hands on a guitar. What with his new teaching job and directing a Shakespeare play and dealing with his fellow teachers and their mindless rules and then keeping up with his own reading and vocal exercises and dancing, he hadn't had the time to practice, as he usually did.
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Post by Aera Adiya on Mar 27, 2012 21:42:48 GMT -5
Here is where it started. The awkward fire of questions she wouldn't know how to answer. Of course, people would always be hesitant to believe that she was a ghost, so it wasn't hard to convince them otherwise, at the most they would think she was strange. But she didn't like being thought strange. She was a star, a star to be adored by the masses. She wasn't some weird strange cult person, she was the person whose songs played on the radio 24/7, the one who sold out every tour, the one whose CDs were hard to find because they disappeared off the shelf so fast...
She just had to keep her cool and he wouldn't think she was strange, but it didn't help that he was a teacher. He could probably verify the information she gave and no that things weren't what they seemed. Should she pretend to not attend the school? No, because what if he saw her again? She hung around her quite a lot and things would get strange if he didn't think her to be a student...what else could she say she was? No, she had to stick with student. "I'm a songwriting major," she said sweetly.
She huffed slightly when he said she played well, as if she had been waiting to hear him say that, she knew she played well. She had played since her fingers had been strong enough to hold down the strings. But her facial expression stayed exactly the same, he was just ignorant. She would expect as much from a musical theater teacher, musical theater had no real music in it, it lost the integrity of that craft, but she was classy and didn't say so. "Of course you may play it," she said in calculated graciousness, handing out her most dear possession.
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