((Songs mentioned in order;
I could have danced all night-My fair lady
Un bel di vedremo- Mdm butterfly
Nocturne Op.9 No.2-Chopin
Gavotte- Gossec Suzuki))

A Prelude;

Mozart was crazy.

Everyone and anyone who had ever read about him, heard about him, or has seen the movie Amadeus can clearly see that this cackling masochist was one seriously cracked fruit loop. But his insanity had always been part of his appeal. Dukes and Duchesses and Princes and Emperors would send for him, travel from all part of the world just to catch a glimpse or hear a single note comprised by this awe-inspiring child that could make the world of music his own. But Mozart wasn't always appreciated for the passion that he poured into his work. While in Italy it was said that his music simply held too many notes for one to hear and comprehend. His choice of opera was forbidden and he was condemned for it. He raised hell for the sake of his life, his wife, and his art. But no one understood the astounding achievements of this utterly brilliant mad man until after he died. It wasn't until he died penniless and alone, and dropped carelessly in the dirt that people began to understand the significance of his loss…

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was flat fucking crazy.

But his music wasn't.

The music that ran ramped through this man's brain and, in the end, drove him into the state of insanity and obsessive depression that ended his life was nothing less than perfection. Each note placed was a necessity that without it you could not move the piece. Each dip and pull, the strain and ease at which a single voice steals the audience or a mass of strings takes the crowd ties a knot around you heart and forces you to feel the overwhelming sensation of being….infinite… and see what the world truly was to this man.

For this was a man that could live in music. This was a man that could hear the flow of life that each foot stepped to beat to the never ending lyrics of the outspoken. But not everyone can hear this masterpiece of the human soul. It only comes to people who were born to listen… Mozart was one of them.

So was I.

Ever since I was old enough to toddle, I've been obsessed with sounds. The squeak of rusty windows creaking shut, the constant drip of the leaky faucet that my father could never fix permanently, the sliding roll of my stroller on the side walk as I was walked through the park, and the tiny pitter of puppy paws as Pluto scampered behind. Every one of these sounds was something new and exciting to my developing mind and I never stopped craving more. But nothing could compare to the loveliness of my mother's voice. Anything that she would sing from something as simple as I could have danced all night to Un bel di vedremo. Anything that she put to a tune was nothing less than beautiful, a liquid sound that ran through my mind and out my eyes as the door slammed out any proof I had of her existence.

My father never told me what happened or why she left but he did play a song that cried out for her with arms that would never each far enough. His fingers stretched painful distances and ways to force the song from his heart and it made me understand at the young age of five that he had gone through something so unimaginably painful that he could not put his heart ache into words. But the melody that pierced our broken home wasn't enough to soak up the liquor in this breath or the bruises that formed on my arms and back. It didn't bring back the memories of the things that he had done in the morning and because of it I couldn't think anything clearly wrong with it. Music makes people mad. I knew it then and I know it now, anyone with the drive and feel for it is pushed forward by some sort of insanity. How could I blame him for something I knew I was also pledged with?

But he had the escape that I didn't get to have, his safe haven that he held inside of his violin that I couldn't completely understand. "Why do you look different when you play?" I finally gathered the courage to ask him when he was tucking me in, careful not to look at the purple bits of skin.

He chuckled, a small smile on his lips that made me think of the father that I knew when my mom was here to make him better. And then he answered, "Because when I play, I'm happy." He told me in what he probably thought was a very easy to understand manner, but that's because he didn't realize how much this had been tormenting me. He couldn't understand how badly I needed to know how he was able to change so quickly from this man who lived in beauty to the one who buried himself in pain. He didn't see that same pain in my eyes…

"I wish I was happy." I whispered and his face turned once again into the wall of hurt that held back his goodness. I cannot pretend to know what it is like to hear your eight-year-old child tell you that they are not happy, but I do know that it didn't feel good. But it must have had some kind of effect on him because the next day my father took me to a music store.

To me it was like we had walked straight into heaven.

The walls were lined with wooden guitars, painted in odd colors, the face on the end of each long neck just slightly beautiful in a different kind of way that made them unique and special. There had to be a thousand violins, none of them looking the same either, there were cellos and stand up basses that were made for giants. Three trumpets were lined up on the counter, the scent of fresh polish stinging my nose in a way that made me smile. It all felt so wonderful and alive that I could almost hear the symphony of their invisible voices echoing off of the white walls that they lined, begging to be taken into intricate hands that used to sing to the world that was so lack of voices.

But only one voice filled the shop.

A man with spiky blond hair sat on a platform at the end of the shop playing a song I had heard once before only on something different, deeper than the piano that his hands ran so fluidly over. I wanted him to play forever. The way in which his hands fell over the keys fascinated me and I found myself stepping up onto the platform and watching him play. He chuckled at my intensity and stopped, ruffling my hair and making me look up into graying eyes. "You like the classics buddy?" he asked me with the kind of smile that you can help but return. My father gave a laugh and the man looked up at him with a bigger grin, "I guess I should have known with a father like that." He shook his head with a sigh.

I don't remember what they talked about after that, I was too lost in my own world to care about what was going on. They walked away leaving me with the piano, so I climbed up onto the stool, little fingers running over the ivory wandering what he did to make it work. I pressed down, and jumped at the sound, nearly falling to the ground, but I managed to stay up. I pressed again. And then again. And then again and before I knew what was happening, I was playing the song I had just heard the man playing, laughing at how wonderful it all way. My hands were singing and my feet were swaying, too small to reach the ground. I was making music…

But then I stopped.

There had been a gasp to my left and a little boy with big glasses and bowl cut chair the same honey blond that the man had was staring at me with big eyes. And I couldn't help but smile at him. He had heard what I'd done. He had heard my music, so surely he must understand what this meant! He probably just thought I was a freak, but at that moment, he returned my smile and came to sit with me on the stool pressing a few keys. "Play this." He said as he played a choppy melody that I couldn't really understand. But I repeated it faster. I looked at him waiting but he didn't do anything else, he just looked at me with big eyes and I couldn't help but wonder if I had hurt his feelings by doing something wrong, but that's when we heard laughter.

"Ah! There you are Roxas!" the man came rushing over and picked up the boy, kissing his cheek, making him grin, "Roxas," he said happily looking at me, "This is Sora, he is very special." He said looking at his son, "Now, Mr. Valentine," he looked back at my father, "Is going away for a few days and Sora is going to stay with us okay? I need you to be very nice to him."

"Daddy, He's beautiful." He whispered more loudly than he meant to but I didn't really care. He was wrong, but I was taught that it was nice to accept complements. "He's different."

"Different people are the most wonderful kind." He reminded him and that was the end of that.

My father always took credit for discovering my musical talent and being the main inspiration that made me keep going, but that was just for the audience. If anyone had ever asked me who made me want to play the cello, I would point them to Mr. Strife. He wasn't a famous man, or a wealthy man, or any kind successful when it came to his art. Mr. Strife was just a teacher. A man who lived contently on a small salary and a lot of love from his wife Tifa and his son who I believed to be a little off. He was happy… And I obsessed over how he could be.

My father had left me with the Strife's while he went on a month long tour for the sole reason that he wanted me to play the piano. He wanted to turn me into something that he could profit from, something that could make him proud and pull him out of the sadness he felt without his violin. After all I was the one who went spouting all of that longing for an outlet to happiness and what better what better way than through this monstrous instrument? But I couldn't do it. The piano was nothing but at board covered in keys that any fool could play with the right teacher. They wouldn't be able to play it like Cloud, it a way that would make you feel but they could play it with the skill of a master and get the same response. There was just something about the piano that I couldn't help but despise. Its simplicity was at that top of the list. The keys never able to surprise you unless you were clumsy enough to hit the wrong one. I never hit a single thing out of place. Everything was utterly and completely precise and perfect because that's how it had to be. My father never made mistakes; my mother had always been perfect; so I had to be perfect. The first time we had even sat down at the piano and he opened his book of music and I made a master piece of Chopin's Nocturne, not a single thing over looked, all dynamics followed. But I just looked at him, upset and angry by the astonishment on his face.

"It's wrong…" I told him shaking my head and sliding off the bench, but he caught my arm and turned me back to him in astonishment.

"W-wrong?" He breathed unable to understand how that could possibly disappoint anybody, but I could only tell him what I thought in a way that I saw it alone. "Sora, that was beautiful… p-perfection!"

"Then why am I still sad?"

There must have been something there in my bright, child eyes because any amazement that he might have held on his face was now nothing but a ghost of a smile as he realized it wasn't about being good for me… It was about filling me with something right. Something that was mine and could take place of all the pain that my mother left me to deal with now that my dad had me on his own. The piano wasn't mine… it was what my father wanted me to be and the thought of being anything he wanted made me sick to my stomach.

He didn't make me play the piano anymore, but it was always playing somewhere in the back of the house, filling every room with the light that pooled out of Mr. Strife's heart with each bang or soft press of the keys at his leaguer. To play this instrument with anything other than his thoughtless perfection would have been wrong…and I think after thinking over what I had said to him, he began to understand that being a genius means nothing if you can't feel what you are playing. That's when the hunt officially began.

The brought in instrument after instrument, day after day finding that I could play each with an ease that yanked and prodded at the hollowness in my chest that had me craving something that could challenge me. Something that I could work for the way I would watch Roxas play his violin… He fascinated me… The day his fingers would hesitate in an unsure, off-tempo attempt to play to utter perfection with a lack of any natural talent or good since of pitch. And despite the fact that he stumbled and was nothing bust frustrated with the instrument at his disposal, the fact that he was consumed by it had me listening for hours.

"I'm not very good…not like you anyway…" He said in a pouty down trodden voice one afternoon when he caught me spying on him from the top of the bunk bed. I know that he usually saw me when I tried to sneak in but he'd never acknowledged it before…I was a little caught off guard. And also confused. I climbed down the little ladder, stumbling just slightly as I made my way to the floor before I was really able to look at him, his rounded face in full pout mode as he looked at me with jealous longing that I couldn't bear.

"I'm not good." I told him simply because that's just how young boys think, in simple terms that can justify the world. "You will be so much better than me." But that just set him off.

"I'm not a dummy Sora!" He glared at him thrusting the instrument into my hands before he jumped up and pushed me over to the music stand he'd been at moments before. "You do it! Play the song." He told me, face flushed and frustrated as he waited for what we both knew was coming. And even though I didn't want to, I couldn't think of any other way to tell him what he needed to understand. So I played the song, the small starting melody of Gavotte. It wasn't a difficult song, in fact it has to be one of the simplest and most know melodies of the classical music world. I played it for him, looking at him at moments when I got my bearings unable to understand the baffled look on his face as he listened to this garbage I had so easily polluted the air with.

I couldn't bring myself to finish.

"Hey, why did you-"he began but I cut him off.

"How did that make you feel?" I asked him, longing to understand his reaction but he seemed almost as confused as I did.

He looked at me a moment and then at the instrument in my hands before answering, "Sad…but happy too?" And that could only make me frown deeper.

"I don't feel anything…" I told him with a sigh handing it back to him before leaving the room with the door shut behind me.

I didn't watch Roxas anymore after that, I couldn't let myself watch him, the small crease on his forehead that he got when his fingers got clumsy was almost as painful as the smile when he got it right. I couldn't handle that kind of completeness. I couldn't understand it.

I spent my last week with the Strife's watching Cloud. The way that his hands could glide so easily up the white keys of his vintage upright only to fall heavily on the black, causing an argument between his fingers. An argument… The thought of that brought me to the conversation I had overheard the week previous between him and my father. "No, Vincent you don't understand, the child is brilliant! Absolutely amazing. Anything he picks up he can….no, it's not exactly a problem but… He doesn't seem to take to it like you wanted him to. He seems, well he seems sad-" He halted, mouth open slightly as he took whatever was being spat at him from the other end, "All I'm saying is that I'm concerned-" Another pause,"… No… he isn't my child but-"

That was when I left.

As I watched Mr. Strife's clever hands, playing the keys, or winding up all sorts of strings it was easy for me to pretend that I was Clouds child. That maybe, if I was really good then I wouldn't have to leave when my father came home. Finding my instrument became an eternal race. If I could find it, then maybe I could stay, I could smile like Roxas and be part of this loving and complete family. I could do it. I could make myself do this for a life time of happiness.

Only I couldn't really. I had tried almost everything that He'd had in the shop from the drums to the triangle I was just about tapped out. "Let's leave it here for today," Cloud pat my back with a sigh after we found the trumpet to bring all the normal success but the same unhappy haze, "Just put it back over there okay?" he smiled at me as he pointed to the counter but I could tell that he was hurting as much as I was. It felt like I was walking a path of shame as I made my way down the row of strings and set my latest failure aside. I tried to glare at the trumpet but all I could do was sigh as I turned away walking back to the back rooms to see if I could spy on Roxas one last time when it tripped me. It may be a little cliché to say that I never saw it coming or that it knocked me off my feet but that's exactly what happened. On my way to the back, my foot got locked on the stem of a small mahogany cello, causing me to trip almost retaining my balance until the cello came tumbling after me crushing me to the ground efficiently taking my breath away. I struggled to sit up, pushing the enormous thing off of me with a huff as I glared at the damn thing. Big ugly beast. That's what I thought of it, and I would have given it a goof kick if my toe hardly brushed one of the strings giving out a wonderful deep sound.

The sound took me slightly aback as my lips parted, almost as if I was trying to breath in the essence of this strange bodied instrument that quite literally fell into my lap. There was just something about it, something that made my small heart race as I stood up and set it to its rights and reached back to the display to find a bow. I took a quick look around the store to see it was almost completely empty, just the few stragglers waiting for rides after lessons. Slowly almost as if I were under water I moved the bow up to the strings. I moved my left hand into a chord arrangement and let my right move the bow…

Producing the most horrible sound I'd ever heard.

It was the most beautiful thing in the world!

I remember running after that. I was running through the store with a smile so wide that it felt like my face might split in half, but I didn't care. Because now I could fix it! With music I could be this happy all the time, just like my dad. I could play music and my mom would hear me and we could be a family again! I was so foolishly happy that I didn't realize people were yelling until I ran straight into my father's back.

He looked angry… and even with his face so far away I could smell the poison on his breath. Mr. Strife looked from me to him over and over as the happiness slipped away from me. I was too late… And now I had to go home and face this challenge without Mr. Strife there to help me. "There you are!" my father slurred as he bent down and kissed me right on the mouth in the most uncomfortable possibly that was reflected in the disgust on Mr. Strife's face. I didn't bother making a face, this happened all too often. "My little Blue." He laughed before he hiccupped stumbling slightly before he collapsed into Cloud's arms.

Roxas came out to watch as his father helped mine into the car that was waiting outside, holding onto the small pack that I had some with. There was a look on his face that I didn't quite understand but I had been too distracted to take much notice. As soon as we got him strapped in and my things placed in the back, I turned around to say good bye to the family that tried so hard to teach me only to be met by a large black case… I knew what was inside of it. "I told you not to leave anything out," Cloud managed a small smile at me but it didn't reach his eyes. He tucked it away and gave me a quick hug before he settled me into the car next to my sleeping father, leaning into the window to say one last amen. "Sora, I want you to promise me something." He said very softly making my eyes widen as I waited, "I want you to take all of that pain, all the desire that you have in here," he pointed to where my heart was in my chest, "And put it here." He gripped my hands and smiled genuinely this time, "You are so gifted little blue. Don't ever forget that."

And just as quickly as they had come into my life, the Strife's were gone.

I spent the next year doing nothing but music. The cello turned out to be exactly what I needed even if I hated every fiber of its being. It was impossible, nothing like the violin with his delicate handling and small movements. Nothing like the piano with his passionate pleas. No, this instrument was completely raw, brash and brutal… And so completely infuriating! I spent hours trying to get my fingers to bend in ways that made them feel as if they were breaking, running scales and perfecting the tones and tools until finally one day I looked up from the piece, Gavotte signed in crayon by the little boy in big glasses, completely satisfied.

It wasn't long after that, that my father started bringing me to galas, having me play for friends and directors, everyone wanting a piece of the nine year old progeny son of the famous Vincent Valentine. He dragged me along on his coat tails, getting me to play huge concerts and in quartets, everywhere! People wanted to play with me… and for the most part… I was happy. For the most part, the music kept me at some sort of peace with myself, but it just wasn't enough. My mother never came back. Mr. Strife moved away before I could show him what he helped me do, taking my only friend with him, leaving me with my father to be the perfect child he always wanted. "You are beautiful," he whispered in my ear as he reached around me to straighten my tie before I walked out on stage haunted by his words. It felt like something was missing, something important that I should defiantly understand but when I think of it now I can't. All I can remember is the wonderful crashing sound of applause as people poured what I made them feel back into me and how I wanted nothing more than to play music for the rest of my life.

My name is Sora Valentine. I am seventeen years old and I was…I am… a cellist.

I…I don't know how to be anything else!