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Fracture

By NHanon
Created: 2024-11-05 22:32:39
Expiry: Never

  1. >A soft melody reverberates throughout the room.
  2. >A bow, drawn across strings creates it.
  3. >Although benign to some, it demonstrates its ability to give way to beauty.
  4. >At times, it’s a wonder that such a thing could be possible in the world.
  5. >Passing thoughts aside, instruments are unique in how they are able to draw out an emotion or two.
  6. >Though that in of itself is the nature of music.
  7. >And right now, somewhere, out there, a song is being played – performed, recorded, or otherwise.
  8. >A number of them will never be heard, save for the exception of the musician themselves who played it.
  9. >This current piece is slow, controlled, and gentle in its rhythm.
  10. >Each note receives attention, which in turn adds to yet another part of the song.
  11. >It’s all done in… practice.
  12. >Perfect practice makes perfect.
  13. >That lesson was etched in stone.
  14. >Music itself, however, is among the few that remain eternal; lasting after the world is long gone.
  15. >The musicians who create it, share it, are often called talented, blessed, or even some other word that an observer will feel to befit them.
  16. >It’s as though the musician is treated as a magician who’s spells are beyond mortal comprehension.
  17. >While flattering, it is not true.
  18. >Countless hours are spent in perfecting the craft, yet they do not understand.
  19. >Even if it were to be explained in the simplest of terms, nothing would change.
  20. >There is no anger to be had about such matters, as they’re ignorant, and ignorance is case of lacking information, which can be learned at a later time.
  21. >Wisdom tempers that, like a smith who tempers the blade.
  22. >With this current edge played, it too, can cut, though solely in the form of music.
  23. >A voice, or sometimes voices, can create it, as well.
  24. >Singing, however, is out of your pool of talents.
  25. >That leaves this violin.
  26. >These passing thoughts always attempt to lead you astray, but they’ve been around long enough to learn how to deal with them for the most part.
  27. >Nevertheless, the thought is true – it would be nice to have more skills to rely on.
  28. >Time is short, so there is no room for it, sadly.
  29. >Life itself is even shorter, therefore what is left has to be spent in mastering the violin.
  30. >Some would say, and have said, that has already been accomplished; in addition to saying it is done flawlessly.
  31. >That would be incorrect.
  32. >To the highly trained (such as yourself), it’s easy to discern it.
  33. >Which is why so much effort is given to remove the flaws.
  34. >It’s a matter of being better than yesterday, last week, last month, last year, and so on, and so forth.
  35.  
  36. >Perfect, perfect, perfect…
  37. >That’s all that’s needed evermore.
  38. >Every step must be measured.
  39. >Each word uttered from tongue and teeth has to be, too.
  40. >And the way the public sees you is especially tricky.
  41. >Because all of that has to be done perfectly.
  42. >For just as music is practiced to remove flaws, you too, must remove your own.
  43. >A thought comes about, one that was heard in passing, “All things are clay brought into the world to be molded into greatness.”
  44. >Mother and father were the ones to bring you forth.
  45. >Your tutors did the initial refinement.
  46. >That altogether, has sculpted you into the mare you are now today.
  47. >But, in spite of those efforts, there is still a great distance to cross before you become what you /need/ to be.
  48. >These songs are not played perfectly.
  49. >The parties have yet to achieve peak perfection.
  50. >Those are just two things that have to be taken care of.
  51. >Progress is akin to a snail, but that’s due to one, simple, little reason.
  52. >You.
  53. >Always you.
  54. >Mistakes are made, all of which can be avoided.
  55. >A grave echo of a snap draws practicing to a halt.
  56. >It takes but a mere second to know it didn’t come from the violin, not the room, nor from outside the apartment.
  57. >An old memory from the past that remains as a reminder to focus.
  58. >Distractions are not supposed to stop practice.
  59. >This makes this a mistake; another avoidable one.
  60. >By allowing it to happen, it proves how flawed you still are.
  61. >Flaws come about unbidden.
  62. >You utter a quiet breath with a slow shake of your head, golden bangs bouncing lightly.
  63. >Silence holds throughout the dead air of the bedroom.
  64. >It is unnerving, wrong.
  65. >Every fiber of your being is wound in a tight, container; dressed in equine form.
  66. >Part of that is from the mistake made, while the rest is from the upcoming concert.
  67. >Despite it being a ways away, it looms overhead, as if it were a thick fog to devour all in sight.
  68. >Perhaps a short break can remedy this.
  69. >Why, so you can slack off?
  70. >No, but staying tense will only make practice more difficult.
  71. >That will lead to more flaws.
  72. >You cannot afford anymore of those.
  73. >Another may just create a… crack.
  74. >A crack leads to compromising the whole.
  75. >That leads to a simple conclusion – breaking.
  76. “No!”
  77. >J-just… focus.
  78. >Focus and breathe.
  79. >A breath in, a breath out.
  80. >Repeat.
  81. >A breath in, a breath out.
  82. >Again.
  83. >A breath in, a breath out.
  84. >Better.
  85. >All things are right where they need to be.
  86. >Nothing is wrong, everything is perfectly perfect.
  87.  
  88. >Now, time to take a short break, practice can continue afterwords.
  89. >Setting aside your violin, you venture out of the bedroom.
  90. >Warm sunlight pours in from the large windows in the spacious living room, bathing everything in great detail.
  91. >The world outside bustles with life.
  92. >Every so often, a pegasus or two can be seen flying towards destinations unknown.
  93. >On the streets below, carriages and various ponies of all kinds are going about their lives.
  94. >An audible ticktock comes from the grandfather clock against the wall.
  95. >A home warming gift from mother and father.
  96. >The face reads a quarter till one; drawing upon a dull pang of hunger from within.
  97. >It seems practice overtook lunch.
  98. >Unlike most things taught in youth, cooking was entirely learned in solitude.
  99. >That was always so very /rare/.
  100. >They were simultaneously cherished and despised.
  101. >The former, because it was a time to have a breath of fresh air, yet the latter kept it short lived.
  102. >Mother and father themselves ensured that.
  103. >Speaking of them, they will be expecting a letter soon.
  104. >Later, for now, make food and eat.
  105. >A couple simple sandwiches are made.
  106. >Like most things in life, even the matter of eating was – and is – practiced.
  107. >Chew sufficiently, swallow, wipe mouth with napkin, sip some water, then take a small bite, and repeat all over again.
  108. >Perfect practice makes perfect.
  109. >After eating, the dishes are cleaned.
  110. >And of course, this too, is done perfectly.
  111. >From there, the letter to mother and father is started.
  112. >Soft scratching of quill upon parchment fills the air in addition to the ticking of the clock.
  113. >Nestled within reach is a pile of unfinished musical pieces.
  114. >While flawed, they cannot be tossed out, as that would be foolish because they can be learned from.
  115. >But maybe someday that will change.
  116. >For now, the letter is finished in time, containing but a simple update.
  117. >Mother and father always want to know the details of your day-to-day life, regardless of what it might entail.
  118. >You make your way downstairs to the series of mailboxes.
  119. >Upon reaching them, sounds from the world outside bleed in.
  120. >Voices, some who shout, others who speak softly.
  121. >Clopping of hooves going to and fro.
  122. >Doors opening and closing.
  123. >Rumbling of carriages.
  124. >They come together in a melody of sorts.
  125. >Perhaps this could be composed together, and-
  126. >That is not how music is made, or did you forget your teachings?
  127. >No.
  128. >Good.
  129. >True music comes from harnessing instruments made by hooves and hearts; voices in harmony to create words in song, and is finalized in the form that the orchestra brings alone.
  130. >Any other idea or attempt is foolish.
  131. >Both mother and father, your tutors, too, repeated that, over and over.
  132.  
  133. >They stated it as fact, and it remains true forevermore.
  134. >Yes, of course.
  135. >Are you certain?
  136. >Ignoring that thought, you set the letter into the outbox, then retreat to your apartment.
  137. >Too much time has been wasted already.
  138. >That should not have happened.
  139. >By letting it, the path to perfection will take longer.
  140. >That is not something you would want, unless… you’re ACTIVELY making yourself further flawed.
  141. >The grave echoing snap from before forces you to jolt suddenly.
  142. >Breath.
  143. >Focus.
  144. >Breath.
  145. >Good, everything is right.
  146. >Back to the bedroom to practice.
  147. >Retrieving your violin, you adjust it until it’s perfect, and from there, music fills the space like it did earlier.
  148. >Your eyes follow the notes laid out across the pages.
  149. >They speak about the song in ways that words can never quite accomplish.
  150. >Some have highs, some have lows, yet the beauty remains consistent throughout.
  151. >Melody consumes all things; bringing about a heavenly sound that graces those who can witness it.
  152. >Perfect practice makes perfect.
  153. >Again.
  154. >And again.
  155. >And again…
  156. >It must be done until it is ALL perfect.
  157. >Remember what the tutors taught.
  158. >Remember what mother and father said.
  159. >Nothing else matters.
  160. >The end of the song is reached; with that, you exhale a shaky breath.
  161. >There’s a subtle stirring inside, but it’s ignored.
  162. >This song is important, special even, more so than most others.
  163. >From what was read on its history, it was written during a trying time when the composer experienced a great heartbreak.
  164. >That’s something you have yet to truly experience.
  165. >There was once a face and name in the distant past that was left behind, though.
  166. >A blurry face, gray, with a dark mane and tail.
  167. >So sad.
  168. >So lost.
  169. >Yet…
  170. >In that moment, the stirring inside grows further.
  171. >It swells, gathering in your beating heart.
  172. >Much has been experienced, but not enough to fill a lifetime.
  173. >On the surface, those amounted to being flawless.
  174. >Within, there are fractures.
  175. >They’ve been there since forever.
  176. >Needless to say, keeping them where they are is difficult.
  177. >No pony needs to know about them.
  178. >Not your peers.
  179. >Not mother and father.
  180. >Not a soul.
  181. >They couldn’t understand, they wouldn’t.
  182. >They’re blind.
  183. >They only want you to be perfectly perfect, like it always has been demanded.
  184. >Perfect, perfect, perfect…
  185. >How can that ever be achieved if there are fractures, though?
  186. >Your breathing turns heavy with that thought.
  187. >Breath, that will right the wrongs.
  188. >A breath in, a breath out.
  189. >Repeat.
  190. >A breath in, a breath out.
  191. >Again-
  192. >No.
  193. >What-?
  194. >NO.
  195. >Your violin starts to slip from your grasp.
  196. >Focus and breathe.
  197. >No, enough of this.
  198. >Enough? No, if you don’t do it, you /know/ what will happen next.
  199. >This is too much to handle…
  200. >Do not be stupid.
  201. >A sharper, yet similar echo from before comes about unexpectedly.
  202. >Yet, there is no flinching in response this time.
  203. >Instead, everything turns standstill.
  204.  
  205. >Silence falls.
  206. >Then, all at once, the world shatters into a million-billion, disfigured pieces.
  207. >No color, just shades of gray.
  208. >No sound, just types of silence.
  209. >No soul, just you.
  210. >Everything composed is insignificant in this vast, empty world around.
  211. >You scream, but nothing comes out.
  212. >You cry, but no tears fall.
  213. >You move, but remain in place.
  214. >You are not you.
  215. >A lie, wrapped in a little earth pony form.
  216. >It is all but a twisted, torrential storm that sweeps across the landscape, staying as unforgiving as can be.
  217. >Even that ends eventually, with peak coming about without warning.
  218. >Everything falls dark, quiet even.
  219. >Nothingness.
  220. >A pinprick of light appears in the middle of all things, followed by a dull, drowned out sound.
  221. >Lastly, you come to, Connie.
  222. >Pain (both physical and mental) play an orchestra throughout.
  223. >You find yourself on the bedroom floor, curled up on your side.
  224. >In blurry sight, your violin is within view, seemingly discarded without so much as a single thought.
  225. >Music sheets are scatted about, with some being crumpled or torn apart.
  226. >Even the bedding, along with any pictures, books, and more have been strewn across the room.
  227. >You blink, eyes burning from fires long since dead.
  228. >Your breath, lungs ache like they had been pushed to their limits.
  229. >In the final act, the crescendo arrives.
  230. >No longer are there /just/ fractures inside, within your heart of hearts.
  231. >Wider, deeper, uglier, they lie.
  232. >Cracks.
  233. >It’s been broken.
  234. >A choked, pained sob escapes, followed by another, then another.
  235. >Where there was once a heavily, musical melody, there is now pained agony.
  236. >A symphony just for you.

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