Claire de Lune
4/27/11
It was a full moon tonight. The college campus was an entirely different world when not so bustling with students and staff. The long grass was rippling green waves to the rhythmic pulsing of the wind in the outdoor portion of the campus, while the darkened hallways loomed on for much longer than they would be daylight. There was still some light existing here, however, and it was in the music building of the school. There was someone still there, someone still playing a single instrument.
And there he sat. The grand piano stood alone on the stage that was so obviously meant for more, its only company being the lone man and his sheet music. There were no stage-lights shining down upon him or the piano, there was only a single red rose on the piano's closed lid. The vivid red petals, as well as a few lit tea-candles, were positioned across the sleek black surface of the piano, creating a wonderfully sad contrast that fit perfectly to the duet of the piano and its temporary master.
The somber chords and triads were echoing across the dark room, the sounds reverberating across the glass-ceilinged room. The shimmers from the moon and the stars were shining down upon the two of them, Heaven's own limelight embracing the sad duo as they played on. But despite the perfect setting, he could not perform the song as he so wished he could. The melody was flowing through the gears of his mind and into the newly formed recesses of his heart, but his shaky fingertips were lacking the experience they needed.
He had promised that he would play this piece for her, it being her favorite piano song. She was supposed to be his audience, to listen and to clap and to flash him that beautiful smile of hers while he played. He desperately wanted to see her joy, her smile, her everlasting happiness again, at least one more time than he had. But he could not, and the theater was empty tonight.
There had been an accident that occurred just that morning on the campus. She was a scientist, working her way up to eventually become a teacher, like the man who was playing her melody tonight. She had given him her daily "good-bye" and skipped off to work, doing what she enjoyed the very most: creating new hope for people through science and technology. But, although she was progressing with each passing day, nothing could have prepared her for the accident that day. She was chosen to be a test subject for a new experiment, but it was incomplete at the time. After it was set off, there was an explosion of fire and smoke and metal, and her body was turned to ash, and blown away in the autumn breeze.
She wanted more than anything to improve the lives of those who had encountered great sadness and depression, to recreate lost happiness through the miracles the future holds – and that she did for this one man. But instead of through her science, she did it through her love. The man desperately missed her as he sat alone in the music room without an audience. He eventually became so distressed that he slammed his palms into the ivory keys of the piano, creating a sour tone that hovered through the air for several minutes before completely fading away again. The impact of his sudden strike sent the contents of the piano's lid toppling down off of it and onto the stage floor. Little did the man know that two of the tea candles had rolled their flaming wicks upon the flimsy curtains of the stage, and, before he could even sit back down onto the bench, the perimeter of the stage was engulfed in flames.
He simply stared up at the bright orange glow, listening to the crackling of the fire, too distracted by his reminiscence to do much else but watch. He thought not of the increasing heat stinging his face or of the rapidly increasing flames, but of her unfortunate and unfair fate. The flames were enclosing themselves around him and the backstage, the noise and heat incredible, and yet, he was still playing the notes, and better than he had ever done in the past. He had a smile on his face, and, through the light and the heat, he saw her. She was sitting next to him on the piano bench, playing a harmony on the base keys and laughing along with him. He turned to see her, sweat beading upon his brow and upper lip and tears evaporating off his cheeks, and placed his left hand over hers as he played on with his right hand, her left backing him up. And as he burned, he laughed.
The only remains of the fire that were found intact were the first two pages of the man's sheet music. The title read "Claire de Lune," and the 'e' at the end of 'Claire' was written in his own handwriting.