Quote:
The Calling (10) : A beautiful melody drifts on the air from somewhere far away. The vocals are in a language you don't quite recognize, but feel somehow familiar to you. Something about the song calls to you, but no matter where you go, the song seems to sound the same distance away. The longer it goes on, the more emotional the song becomes--and the more emotional you become. Something about the song is possessive and consuming, like it's all you can think of. Something resonates in you as the song crescendos, and the feeling is at its strongest--be they good, bad, anything, but suddenly the song fades, and there's only an emptiness inside of you. The feeling of loss is strong, and can leave someone feeling emotionally numb. Someone out there was calling to you, and you couldn't find them.
The morning routine at the Victorian known (at least to its denizens) (at least to some of them) (okay to Alanna) as Casa de Lezz Beans went something like this: 1. Wake up around 9. 2. Get coffee. 3. Surf the news for a bit. 4. Get more coffee. 5. Take coffee upstairs to room in attic of Victorian. 6. Plug in bass to amp. 7. Go sit out on widow's walk balcony with coffee and bass. 8. Enjoy morning. That was Alanna's morning routine, at any rate. For being a ******** little musician, she was undeniably a morning person. She greatly enjoyed the cool freshness of the air, the sound of the morning bustle of the city, the birdies going cheep, the possibilities for the day ahead.
This morning was no different. Al set her coffee mug, steaming in the morning cool, on the little table next to her rocking chair and settled the big Rickenbacker in her lap. She gave a couple of rocks, then pulled the pick out from the strings of the bass and was just about to check the tuning when a song drifted through the morning air from somewhere. Alanna stopped what she was doing and listened; there was something instantly captivating about the melody, something haunting and compelling, like she had to listen to it. Trying to pick out the words, she shook her head – either they were too far away or in a language she didn't know. Or both. Yet they seemed so familiar to her, strange and melodious and moving emotionally in a way she'd never been moved before.
Putting down the pick, Alanna instead plucked the strings of her bass gently with her fingers, trying to follow along. She closed her eyes as she played, slowly picking out a counterpoint to the melody. As if the singer of the song heard her attempts to play along, the emotion of the song began to increase, until it became the only thing Al could think about. Swaying back and forth in the rocking chair, her coffee went cold as she continued to play, formulating a bass line to accompany the song. And as the song continued, the more intense it became, and Alanna felt tears running down her cheeks as she played, her head bent over the body of the instrument in concentration. The tears were dripping on the wood, but she didn't care. The only thing that mattered was the strange, beautiful, emotional song.
Just as suddenly as it had started, the song faded and stopped. Looking up, as if she was trying to see where the music had gone, Alanna blinked and stared around her. How long had that gone on? Picking up her coffee mug, she took a sip from the now-cool coffee. She was positively haunted and empty now, numb with a strange sense of… loss? Not just for the music, but for something else, someone else… someone who had needed ********," she muttered, wiping her face dry with the back of her hand. This was going to bother her all day now.
(word count: 520)
