Quinn plays the clarinet now. Really it's just a way to hold on to her. Maybe her band teacher doesn't understand why she's so determined to get the West Side Story mash-up perfect.
And that's okay.
She plays whenever she has free time. It could be labeled a distraction, but it isn't, it can't be, when the whole thing is really just a reminder. But it doesn't involve thinking, or processing, or remembering, just moving her fingers from note to note. Filling the space between inhales with something productive.
She's surviving for the next breath now, that's all. It's really all life is, breathing. Sure, there's shelter and food and water, but it happens after the breath, after a calming inhale-exhale that allows you to regroup and refocus. Breathing though, breathing first.
Occasionally she can hear the choir just one room over. They're singing in a bright lit space, chairs eagerly crowded around the piano, posture upright, faces smiling. Sometimes she's not sure if they flow together, one complimentary unit, or angrily clash in some kind of horrific massacre.
She'd never take up singing though.
She hums, but it's all the beat, the melody. What's underneath. She's not of the surface anymore. Too much loathing and dissecting and appraising and taking things at face value. Too much hurt.
But she hums. She can't contain it all.
A/N: Hey, so welcome. I have an idea here. Basically, kind of if Quinn was stripped of walls and broken, trying to fix all these people, and she just can't. She moves to a boarding school, moves on, but can't let Rachel go. There might be a lot of OCs, lots of Gleeks, but still. I'm never a fan of them, but trying to cram Will or Tina into certain roles was just too out of character, even for me. I'm doing a terrible job of explaining. Okay. You can't fix anyone, not really, thinking you can just breaks you more. The things you thought would fix you don't always. But you hang in. You breathe. And maybe you get better.
This was a prolouge. Any interest? Thank you for reading :)