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Utemaro didn't play his flute as often as he should, but now he was taking all the time in the world to at least practice. He might not ever play to anyone in the world, but he could play here and just imagine that he was playing to other people. Perhaps someone might even overhear? Maybe they'd enjoy his playing, lucky for them. Taking a moment to breathe, Utemaro understood that he'd played rather well, brilliantly in fact.
Utemaro itched to do another performance he wondered with gleet what would come out of his flute the next time he played
Regardless Utemaro looked over his flute and adjust it a little, cleaned it where it needed and then began to play a tune upon it. The large beats followed by a shorter rhythm and the consistent tempo emerged as the song became something to walk to. A march beat of sorts. The tempo of the tune becomes faster and develops in vibrancy. It begins to really lift the mood of the song.
Oddly the song begins to take an odd turn, instead of growing into a higher, more powerful song it instead descends, changing its pattern into a slow, powerful harmony that reverberates throughout the hall.
As the tune flows, the climax over, there's a sudden, sharp note that announces the almost overdue end.
Uh sometimes, songs make writers want to slit their own throats, while he wasn't quite at that stage he still didn't feel comfortable about the song he had played, it had definitely lacked something and he wasn't quite sure like the last time how to put that 'something' into the song.
Finally done, Utemaro packed away his simple flute and rubbed his now quite saw lips. A deep welt left a mark on his hands where he had been holding the flute for so long. He'd have to take care of the flute later, but for now he just wanted to go and wash his hands in some nice hot soapy water. Strange how just washing ones hands can bring so much pleasure.
24F20S
