Author's Note: In light of everything happening today, I'm staving off despair by writing. I hope this makes someone's day a little brighter. Even just one person is a victory. Written after the events in Charlottesville.
Bruno stood by his open window, looking out into the night. One of Granzreich's summer storms was blowing through the palace gardens, whipping the trees and grass into waves of green against the dark. The soft murmur of the garden's fountains mingled with the whispering wind, and Bruno sighed to himself as a gust swept through and blew out the candles on his desk.
Still, the smell of summer flowers was pleasant, and he leaned against the windowsill. The fresh, damp breeze felt good against his cheeks, and he let out a tense breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. A brilliant flash of lightning forked across the sky, and with a smile, Bruno began to count to himself.
"One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand, four-one thou–"
Thunder boomed above the wind and the fountains.
"Just under a mile."
One of his earliest memories with his father… curled up under his comforters in fear of the storms.
"It's all right, Bruno… don't be afraid. You don't have to be scared of thunder. All you have to do is count."
"T-to count?" Bruno peeked out from under his pillow, looking up at his father.
"That's right… watch, we'll wait for another flash. Then you start counting. One-one thousand, two-one thousand… for every five, that's how many miles away the lightning is."
He closed his eyes and smiled again.
Father taught me to count… so I'd know how close it was. I was so focused on counting that I forgot to be afraid of the thunder.
Soon the rumbles were happening regularly, but the rain hadn't yet begun to fall. Over and over, the prince would count, always in the same rhythm. Then he had an idea, and left the window to walk over to one of his bookshelves. Lifting down a case, he placed it on his desk and opened the latches. With gentle caution, he lifted out his violin and bow, then he crossed back to the window.
It took Bruno only a moment or two to tune the strings, then he placed the violin beneath his chin, lifted his bow, and waited.
Lightning flashed across the sky, and as he began to count, he also began to play. He wasn't sure where the melody came from, but he let the notes take him where they would. He played the night breeze rustling the grass, he played the soft murmurs of the fountains, and he played the lightning and thunder that echoed over Wienner beyond the palace.
Bruno closed his eyes, focusing only on the music as he played a quiet accompaniment to the storm, always counting and unafraid.