Serenade for Rebirth

(This story tackles mental health and suicide.)

Suspended within a space absent of light and sound, a faceless mannequin was descending from the heavens, lowered by several wires. Once the mannequin was resting inertly against the ground, the wires detached and disappeared into the great beyond. Moments later, the silence was broken by the cries of a newborn. Though once lifeless, the mannequin began to slowly raise its head to meet shimmering light shaped as a doorway. Staring intently at the light, the mannequin picks itself off the ground, nearly stumbling over as it straightens its posture.

With the cries persisting, the mannequin approaches the light. As it came closer, not only did the cries grew louder, but so could it hear something else, music, a violin. Once it stood before the light, the mannequin pressed its left hand against the solid space in between until it found a doorknob. Opening the door, the mannequin stepped into a black-and-white room where a blond hair woman resided. Bed-ridden and wearing a hospital gown, she held within her arms a crying babe. To the left of her bed sat a chair with a record player and a red book.

Seeing it was the only thing with color, the mannequin approached the book and picked it up with both hands. Opening the book to the first page revealed a message in cursive text.

*

02/17/01

Happy birthday, Lotte. I know it's still a little early to be blowing out candles, but I'd like you to forgive a mother's enthusiasm for introducing her child to this, at times, cruel yet interesting world we live in. It's just with every kick I feel, the more excited yet terrified I am. Can I raise you well? What if I'm not good enough? Will I... will I be able to teach you how to smile in the worst of times? Oh, if your father was here, he'd tell me I'm overthinking it. Again. I just hope I can do one thing right. I want to teach you how to like something, something you'd wish to do over and over, relishing every second of it. Maybe violin? I can say I know a thing or two about that.

*

The mannequin turns the page to find nothing else written down, but once it lifts its head, everything begins disintegrating. The walls, the record player, the mother, and her babe were all disappearing back into the void. All that was left was the red book held by the mannequin, glowing dimly in its hands. Lost, the mannequin begins walking in one direction but notices the light from the book fading further. Stopping and moving back in the opposite direction, the book started to glow brighter.

Holding the red book out in front of itself, the mannequin followed it down an invisible path, watching as the book grew brighter and brighter before running into a solid object. Using the light to study it, the mannequin found another door. Pressing its head against the door, the mannequin listened to a woman giving words of encouragement to someone. Opening the door, the mannequin stepped into a bedroom, finding the blond woman again with a boy. Both of them were holding a violin. The boy played the instrument crudely, stopping again and again after each lousy note, but the mother just smiled, demonstrating how to play the notes correctly while the boy followed in her lead.

The book stopped glowing. The mannequin opened it to find several pages already written but chose to skip to the most recent one.

*

05/02/13

Mom is showing me how to play her favorite instrument again. Again. It's like this almost every day of the week. I want to take a break from it for a while, but I'm afraid to hurt mom's feelings. I mean, playing this thing seems to be one of the only things that make her happy, and teaching me how to play it myself seems to make her happier. I sometimes want to try harder for her, but she keeps telling me that brute force would only make the music sound worse and that the instrument would play itself with enough time. I know she plays for a lot of people, but I still don't know what she means by that.

*

After having read the page, the mannequin watched again as everything disappeared into nothing. Still holding onto the now glowing red book, the mannequin followed it again till it found yet another door. Pushing the door open, the mannequin stepped into a theater. Standing on stage was a teenage boy playing the violin to a female instructor sitting in the front row. When he finished, the instructor stood up and applauded the student. Opening the book, the mannequin turned to the most recent entry.

*

11/09/18

I still don't know how I feel about mom being the music teacher at my high school. Where does she even find time to be a celebrity? Speaking of which, she's actually going through with that idea of playing for the entire school and anyone else who wants to buy a seat before winter break. Worst of all, she wants me to play with her. I'm not cut out for this. Even dad called her crazy, but as always, she wouldn't hear any of it, telling me it was time for the baby bird to spread its wings and fly. I know I should've looked into doing anything else I could do for a living, but that's what I get for being a coward and never quitting. Maybe... maybe I can still make this work somehow. Maybe if I actually pull it off, I'll not only get mom off my back but get dad to respect me like an equal. It sure would be nice to finally show him.

*

Closing the book, the mannequin waited for the void to return again, but nothing happened. It tried to open the door behind it, but the door was locked shut. Turning back around, the mannequin found that the mother was gone, with Lotte remaining on the stage, staring back at the mannequin. Slowly, Lotte gestured to the mannequin before walking backstage. The mannequin followed him, down the rows of seats, up the stage, and behind the curtains. When the mannequin made it backstage, Lotte was nowhere to be seen except a violin sitting in an open case above a chair.

Approaching the instrument, the mannequin stared down at it before dropping the red book and picked up the violin with both hands. The mannequin studied it, plucking the strings. Now holding the stem with its left hand, the mannequin rested the other end of the violin above its shoulder as it grabbed the bow from the case. The mannequin paused for a moment before playing a note, then another. Recalling back to the record player, the mannequin readied itself. Slowly, it began playing the song. The mannequin was playing perfectly, as though it remembered the notes by heart.

As soon as the mannequin played the final note, nothing but silence followed before suddenly a crowd was applauding back out before the stage. Turning around, the mannequin found the backstage flooded with people conversing, laughing, or moving through the crowd. But the mannequin found itself focused on one person, someone standing just behind the curtains, a blond woman with a violin, the mother. Dropping the violin, the mannequin pushed through the crowd towards the mother, stopping to find Lotte standing next to her, wearing a black suit.

The mother kissed her son on the head, being the first to step out onto the stage, greeted by a cheering crowd. Lotte stayed behind the curtains, shaking in his shoes as he looked back at his mother. Turning to meet her son, the mother smiled. Raising her right hand out, she gestured to Lotte to join her. Taking deep breaths, Lotte puffed up his chest and began taking his first step onto the stage.

(Bang)

Lotte stopped dead in his tracks, watching as his mother's smile disappeared from her face. Dropping her violin and bow, the mother fell to her side above the stage, still gazing back at her son.

(Bang)

Another shot rang from the panicked crowd. This time it was the shooter committing suicide. The mannequin stood by, frozen, watching as everything began disintegrating from its sight. Standing in the void once again, the mannequin turned around to find the glowing red book. Reluctantly, the mannequin picked it up, held it in front of itself, and began walking down the invisible path once more.

Eventually, the mannequin came across its next destination, a car door. Opening it, the mannequin stepped out into a cemetery, finding Lotte standing alone on a hilltop in front of a gravestone. Joining Lotte on the hilltop, the mannequin found the grave exposed, with a wooden casket sitting inside. Opening the book, the mannequin turned to the latest entry.

*

I can still see it... mother's face, her smile disappearing, the life fading from her eyes. The police kept saying I was lucky to not be spotted by the gunman, lucky that the only reason why I was still alive was because I was a coward. Father could only be outraged by what just happened, thinking that the shooter was someone from mother's past, someone she met before father, before having me, or was still seeing all along. I don't understand. How is this fair? What am I supposed to do now? Who am I supposed to play to anymore? Was I really lucky after all?

*

Lotte reached his hand over the book, closing it as the mannequin made eye contact with him. Lotte silently looked away before kneeling down and opening the casket, revealing a staircase descending into unseen depths. Lotte was the first to step inside, closing the casket above him. The mannequin opened the casket again to find Lotte had disappeared. Reluctantly, the mannequin followed after Lotte, descending down the steps as the casket closed behind it.

Step after step, the mannequin continued climbing down the stairs using nothing but the red book as a light source. The mannequin lost track of time after climbing down hundreds of steps before finally reaching a door. Opening the door, the mannequin stepped into the same familiar bedroom, finding Lotte crying himself to sleep with a lamp casting light next to his bed. Beyond his bed sat his violin case, shut and collecting dust above his desk. The mannequin opened the red book, finding several pages scribbled out before reaching the latest one with legible writing.

*

What the hell is his problem? I tried to cheer father up by playing mother's favorite song, and as thanks, he gave me a black eye, all because I misplayed one note. I don't understand him. One minute, he's mourning mother, and the next, he's cursing her name. It doesn't help that he's now spending his free time downing six-packs. I'm reaching my limit. I'm cracking. Mom, what did I do wrong. Why did you have to leave? I just wish I could play for you one more time. Listen to you encouraging the little bird to spread his wings and fly. Just one more time.

*

As soon as the mannequin closed the book, the lightbulb within the lamp exploded, plunging the room into darkness until suddenly, the silence was broken by music, a violin. The mother's song was playing behind the bedroom door. Turning to face the door, the mannequin found light shimmering through the seam, orange light. Opening the door, the mannequin stepped out into a hallway engulfed in flames, finding a man shot dead against the floor.

Stepping past the corpse and through the burning house, the mannequin came across the dining room, finding the record player, a handgun, and an empty bottle of pills sitting above the table, and Lotte, beaten and slouched in his chair, staring against the ceiling with empty eyes and a smile across his face. And surrounding Lotte and the table was a ring of dead mannequins, each with a hole in their head. Opening the book, the mannequin found that nearly all the pages were ripped out of the book, all but one.

*

DEAR DIARY! THIS IS IT! I AM ENDING MY MISERABLE LIFE! I can't take this shit anymore. I tried. I honestly tried to make things work. With music, with father, with living without mom. BUT I WAS JUST FULL OF SHIT! I could never play without seeing my mom dying back on that stage, without people pitying me for being the one who lived. AND FATHER CAN GO TO HELL! Drinking himself to death, sleeping with prostitutes, and constantly telling me I'll never play as good as mom, always finishing with a fuck you and a fist flying at my face. And mom... I'd like to think I did my best to have deserved to meet you again, but if not, then at least I'll get to enjoy your music one last time before sharing a grave with you. See you soon.

*

Suddenly, the book spontaneously combusted within the mannequin's hands, causing it to drop the book. Watching as the book is reduced to ash, the mannequin raises its head to meet Lotte before looking toward the handgun. Stepping over the bodies of other failures, the mannequin grabbed the gun. Slowly it points the weapon against its head, placing its finger above the trigger.

(Bang)

The mannequin shot the record player, stopping the music before pointing the gun at Lotte.

(Bang) (bang-bang-bang-bang-bang-bang-bang)(click-click-click)

The mannequin unloaded the gun into Lotte, perforating his face before the mannequin dropped the gun, fell to its side, and blacked out.

.........

(knock)(knock)(knock)

Entering the bedroom, a nurse in blue and white attire was gently shaking a patient awake.

"Lotte, it's time to wake up. Your new shrink will be here soon."

The patient rose from his bed. His skin was pale, his eyes drooped, and his lips were chapped.

.........

"Now who is this patient I'm seeing?"

"His name is Lotte Michele, doctor. His mother was a violinist, shot dead in front of him. After killing his father, the boy attempted suicide by overdosing, not before burning his house down."

"Any symptoms I'm not aware of? I was told he has insomnia, loss of appetite, and happens to hear an instrument in his head."

"Beyond refusing to socialize with anyone, even the nurses, nothing else comes to mind, doctor."

"Alright, let me see him."

Entering the dining room, the patient was found sitting at the dining table, staring into a glass of water. Silently, the shrink sat down next to him.

"Hello there, I've heard a lot about you before arriving here."

...

"I'm a doctor. It's my job to make my patients feel... feel more at ease with themselves, more comfortable, happy. Do you understand?"

...

"My name is Terrance Ludwick. Dr. Ludwick. May you tell me your name?"

"...my name."

The patient raised his head to make eye contact.

"My name... my name is John. John Doe." The patient said with a smile.

"I'm sorry... John- what?"