The Music

The Bow

The darkness is suffocating, closing the entire world in around me. Velvet against my skin, making me warm, almost comfortable. Yet still, I am frozen inside. I watch the barometer, glowing in the dark, warning me of the pressure changing in time to my heat. The only time I am ever truly warm is when I am with the Rosin, my closest partner-in-crime.

Suddenly, hands begin to lift the lid of my enclosure, blinding me to the light outside. Unable to see, I am taken by the person I like the least. My owner. Someone like me doesn’t want to be owned, they just want to make music, make people proud of me. Pride is my fatal flaw. One day, it will kill me, guaranteed, or I will use it to kill. But for now, I will do the best that I can in my position. 

I feel the strings of the Violin against my hair and sigh, releasing a sweet, high note. Already I feel my body heating up. The chill of the outside air counterparts me perfectly, I drive it away like a dog chasing a rabbit. I feel the hands of my owner begin to tighten around me, almost a warning to my burning, but I ignore it, getting lost in the music. I am the Bow, of course, and I am the most important part of this entire orchestra. There’s my pride again. I feel my cheeks burn, heating everything that touches me. 

Screams, that’s all I hear. Then a siren as an ambulance draws nearer. I am lying on the snow, unable to move without help. I went too far this time, wanting to be free. Maybe that’s what I needed. Maybe now, finally, I will be left alone, I will be able to play my music, not what someone wants me to play. After being around humans for so long, I can now understand their language, so I eavesdrop on the paramedics, but only hear words and phrases. “Third-degree burns” one whispers. “Not sure if she’ll survive” another one comments. Ecstatic, I burn again, melting the ice I’m lying on until I’m sinking into a puddle of dirty water on the street. 

Months later, I lay in my velvet case, covered in dust. This isn’t what I wanted, not at all. Admittedly, I wanted to kill her, but I didn’t think I’d be separated forever from my favourite sidekick. 

Music is how she lived.

Silence is how she died.

The Girl

I open my Rosin case, running my fingertips through the soft velvet. With hands like feathers, I lift my bow out of its protective casing. Stroking it lovingly, I wonder, will it burn me today? Every time I try to play anything with it, it burns me, as if it has a life of its own. Maybe I should be referring to it as him? Has a bow got a brain or thoughts? 

Almost ghost-like, I drift outside, my feet gently placed on the snow, my head held high, like the violinist that I truly am. As I lift the bow to the violin, it emits a high, sweet note, touching my ears like a soft breath. But yet again, I feel the bow beginning to heat up, warming my hands until they are resistant to the crisp air. I tighten my hands around the bow as if giving it a warning not to mess up my song, not to mess up my only chance to become what I want to be in life. 

The heat spreads through my entire body, warming everything it touches. Realising the pain I am in, I instantly drop the bow into the snow, and fall myself, hoping the cold will soothe my burns. Alas, it did not. On the contrary, it made them burn more. 

As my eyes flutter closed, I glimpse a puddle of dirty water around my bow. It was so hot it had melted the snow around it, and the snow was still melting. I gave a single breath to the wind as paramedics surrounded me, and caught snippets of conversations.

“Third-degree burns” one stated.

“Not sure if she’ll survive” another one comments. 

The bow had gotten its last laugh, I was the only person who’d dared to touch it, who’d dare to go anywhere near it. Now it was completely alone. I almost laughed at the thought. 

Then it was over. My last breath danced in the air, swirling like my thoughts. It’s not true, what they say. Your memories don’t fly through your mind when you die. It’s visions of the future if you hadn’t died. I saw myself standing centre-stage, playing my Rosin. 

Music kept me alive.

I died in silence.

The Violin

I rest gently in my velvet-covered case. It is soft against my skin, soothing and calming me. Every night I lie here and dream of the future. I dream of the day I will stand up on stage, being operated beautifully. I couldn’t wait for the next time I will be played, outside, to the public. I think it’s cold outside, but I’m not sure. I haven’t been out for so long, I can’t remember. I feel the velvet lifted from my skin and shiver. Yes, it is cold. 

Hands lift me, stroke me lovingly. Soft, so soft. They lift me by the neck and rest me gently on the floor, placing the bow next to me. The Girl, my best friend, my partner-in-crime. Someday, we want to go out into the world on our own, travel, play music without people making us. The belief we can is so strong, so overwhelming that we have no doubts, no worries about if it will work or not. 

We go outside, with me in one of the girl’s hands, the Bow in the other. As soon as I feel the bow against my strings, I hear a sweet, high note, coming from me. I smile, and relax, allowing the music to flow from me until I am suddenly dropped. Unsure what happened, I rest in the frozen snow, waiting to be picked up again.

I hear sirens, paramedics talking. Until I hear their words, “third-degree burns”, “not sure if she’ll survive”, I wasn’t sure who they were talking about. It is the Girl, of course. She is lying in the snow, a few metres from me, her eyes glazed over unseeingly. As a witness, I watch in silence. I watch until the last breath is pushed from her lips, and I feel the cold in the air, sharp against me. 

Months later, I lie with the Bow in our shared case. He keeps me warm, he heats up. But sometimes, I feel cold, as if he is gone, and I am never sure where. Maybe he visits the Girl.

After all.

Music kept her alive.

Silence how she died.