Hello everyone! Yes, I know…I should be working on Finding Narnia: Aftermath. This little fic was inspired by my weekend, and I just had to post it up here. Don't worry, chapter 5 of my other story is in the works and coming soon! (see my bio) Enjoy!
Usual disclaimer, of course...Lucy and the Pevensies belong to C.S. Lewis. I just like to play with them.
Music.
It is odd that some people find it bland and shallow. It is unbelievable that some people can listen to it without feeling the tingling it causes in my veins. Odd, I think, that some people can listen to it without hearing, can dance to it without feeling.
No…not odd. Inconceivable.
Can they not feel the beat of the drums pulsing in time with their heart? Can they not dive through the layers of the song, find the different instruments, and fly on the threads that weave them together? Music is not a confusing set of notes on a piece of paper. Music is a river that can flow quickly or slowly, swiftly or gently. It is the sun in the bright blue sky, the moon on the darkest night.
Music is a song.
I do not listen to music; I hear it. I do not dance to it, but flow with it. I do not tap my toe on the beat, but feel it pulsing through my very being.
I do not admire. I fly.
There is only so much that can be said about this special type of magic; I can only use metaphors to attempt to describe this wondrous gift that I have discovered. It is like trying to describe light or color to a blind person…words can only go so far. It has to be experienced in order to be fully understood.
I see the musicians practicing their songs in the orchestra pit. Many admire, but few see. They watch the bow fly across the strings of the violin, the fingers float over the harp. They do not listen, do not comprehend the complexity of the strange, alluring life within the walls.
I sit, and I see. I feel the notes meld into the chords, the chords weave into the melodies. I am lost, utterly lost and utterly at peace, allowing myself to fly.
A hand touches my shoulder briefly, and I look up into the eyes of my older sister. They shine with understanding. She, too, can feel the pulse, the beat, the song that flows through our veins and ultimately links the two of us together. I glance behind her and see my brothers, their eyes slightly glazed over, and know that they too are a part of the song.
"Come, Lucy," my sister whispers softly. "It will be starting soon."
Reluctantly, I tear myself away from the orchestra pit and return to my seat as the musicians gradually stop playing. Soon everything and everyone is silent. Something drops in the second balcony, and we are able to hear it.
It is silent on the outside, but not on the inside. Inside my soul, my music is singing in full force, singing and twirling and weaving and dancing, reminding me of the dryads on a beautiful spring day. As the lights in the room fade and the spotlight falls on the front, I reach out and clasp Susan's hand. I can feel the drum pulsing through her fingertips, and I know that I am not alone. All four of us are singing, and together we have created our own song.
Please let me know what you think! I didn't have this planned out (it just sort of happened). Thanks for reading!