Tittle: Symphony
Challenge: Shoulder
Disclaimer: Even my old viola is out of tune. And still it's the same old song: I don't own them.
Word Count: 200, because trust me, you wouldn't have understood it at 100
A/N: This peice is a little bit abstract. It's set durring the Stanford Era. Happy Birthday 88Ivories!
A tale as old as time, a song as old as rhyme.
The Conductor arrives. The symphony begins with a trio of drums booming; fading to one weary drum like a soldier's marching beat. Dean carries on. There's a lull in the calamity here, the symphony is gentler-- luring him to a small town.
Perhaps, he hopes for something simpler than conflict of drums. Dean does his research to the soft music, conducts the hunt and it goes rather uneventfully, until--
The taunt strings screech with a wave of the Conductor's hand and it all changes. After all, they're called angry spirits for a reason.
In a music store, Dean's shoulder crashes against eighty-eight ivory keys. The piano's made for elegance, but under his weight it screams a note of brutality. Percussions clash as Dean stands up. Almost like a melody the way he fires ratta-tat-tat, then finishing the ghost. He walks out of the store cradling his arm, sulking.
The Conductor smiles- the symphony carries on, following His sheet music. He pauses to glance over the pages; He's the only one that knows where the symphony will finish.
Until then, the drum beat becomes stronger, and Dean moves on.