Sonata
*****
(Stop!) I beg silently. (Oh God, please stop. No more. Oh, the humanity!...)
She doesn't stop, though--she continues to mercilessly abuse the poor piano, smiling that desperate smile. It's almost feverish. If Beethoven's corpse happens to be one of the many currently running around this house, he's lucky he's deaf. It would pain him to hear Rebecca butchering his sonata like this.
She doesn't remind me of my sister, not really--they're close in age, but that's about it. The whole thing just makes me wonder if I'm ever going to see my sister again. Funny, but I can't remember the LAST time I saw her. Now there might not be a next time. I'm wondering where she is--hopefully she's out on her bike, or at some party maybe. I hope she's doing something fun, anything she loves. It's suddenly very important to me that she's smiling, wherever she is.
Rebecca plays a particularly painful chord, bringing me back to the moment. She blushes bright as blood. "I guess I'm a little rusty," she says with a nervous giggle.
(No,) I think, my eyes suddenly resting more kindly on her. (You aren't rusty. You haven't even had time to rust. You're so shiny new it's blinding, so clean that you squeak.)
"Hey," I say suddenly. "It's okay."
She thinks I mean the piano, but it's so much more than that. I'm not even talking to her, really--more to myself. In some ways I'm even more desperate than she is--desperate to make things right, to bring calm and order to a situation that has spun completely out of control. Maybe it was never under control to begin with.
Truth be told, she astounds me. She's worried about her musical ability, even though the world has turned dark and gone mad all around us. Those-THINGS--that have been attacking us...they're dead. They walk and bite, but they're dead. With the exception of Rebecca, all of Bravo team is dead. My confidence is dead.
If Jill were here, it would be different. I'd be cool in front of her, even if it were just for the vain reason of not allowing myself to fall apart in front of her. I always feel stronger when she's with me, anyway, as if there's nothing we can't face if we're together.
But Jill isn't here. I haven't seen her since we arrived. There's no telling where she is, what she's doing. Every minute that passes lessens any chance I have of ever seeing her again...
I shake my head to dispel the thought. I can't think like that. I have to believe she's all right. She can take care of herself, and she'll be all right. If she doesn't make it out, I'm not so sure I want to.
"Chris?" Once again Rebecca yanks me back to the present. She crosses one leg behind the other shyly. "May I practice for a while?"
Her words are sad and charming. Practice; she's still trying to improve, to impress.
"Okay," I say. "You go ahead."
She smiles at me, and it's sweet. I am suddenly grateful to have this innocent, shy girl on my side. It's not as good as having Jill with me, but that sweet smile is helping me hold on to sanity by a fine shining string.
Down the hall, Kenneth Sullivan's blood has soaked into the carpet, squishing underfoot. The head has been twisted off the body, blood pouring from the neck, like a gruesome bottle of wine. I try not to look at the corpse as I reach for the knob on the dining-room door.
Rebecca's playing, if such a thing is possible, has actually gotten worse. A chord rings down the hall like a bleat of pain, causing the hackles on the back of my neck to rise.
I smile suddenly. She's alive to butcher the sonata, and I'm alive to cringe at it. Forget finding this funny ten years in the future. I'm laughing now.
*****
Author's Note:
I always feel safe and happy around Chris. He's just that big-brother type, I guess. At any rate he's quite a comforting presence, and I was very pleased to see him today. Registration is busy driving me crazy, so this story was like a little island of serenity in the middle of that stress.
I haven't been very fair to Rebecca, so I consider this story as sort of an apology to her. Of course, if I ever manage to finish the next Leon/Claire fic I'm working on (hope, hope; it's slow going) she'll just be mad at me all over again.
Please review! I accept reviews of all kinds. Please be constructive. Thank you!
*****
(Stop!) I beg silently. (Oh God, please stop. No more. Oh, the humanity!...)
She doesn't stop, though--she continues to mercilessly abuse the poor piano, smiling that desperate smile. It's almost feverish. If Beethoven's corpse happens to be one of the many currently running around this house, he's lucky he's deaf. It would pain him to hear Rebecca butchering his sonata like this.
She doesn't remind me of my sister, not really--they're close in age, but that's about it. The whole thing just makes me wonder if I'm ever going to see my sister again. Funny, but I can't remember the LAST time I saw her. Now there might not be a next time. I'm wondering where she is--hopefully she's out on her bike, or at some party maybe. I hope she's doing something fun, anything she loves. It's suddenly very important to me that she's smiling, wherever she is.
Rebecca plays a particularly painful chord, bringing me back to the moment. She blushes bright as blood. "I guess I'm a little rusty," she says with a nervous giggle.
(No,) I think, my eyes suddenly resting more kindly on her. (You aren't rusty. You haven't even had time to rust. You're so shiny new it's blinding, so clean that you squeak.)
"Hey," I say suddenly. "It's okay."
She thinks I mean the piano, but it's so much more than that. I'm not even talking to her, really--more to myself. In some ways I'm even more desperate than she is--desperate to make things right, to bring calm and order to a situation that has spun completely out of control. Maybe it was never under control to begin with.
Truth be told, she astounds me. She's worried about her musical ability, even though the world has turned dark and gone mad all around us. Those-THINGS--that have been attacking us...they're dead. They walk and bite, but they're dead. With the exception of Rebecca, all of Bravo team is dead. My confidence is dead.
If Jill were here, it would be different. I'd be cool in front of her, even if it were just for the vain reason of not allowing myself to fall apart in front of her. I always feel stronger when she's with me, anyway, as if there's nothing we can't face if we're together.
But Jill isn't here. I haven't seen her since we arrived. There's no telling where she is, what she's doing. Every minute that passes lessens any chance I have of ever seeing her again...
I shake my head to dispel the thought. I can't think like that. I have to believe she's all right. She can take care of herself, and she'll be all right. If she doesn't make it out, I'm not so sure I want to.
"Chris?" Once again Rebecca yanks me back to the present. She crosses one leg behind the other shyly. "May I practice for a while?"
Her words are sad and charming. Practice; she's still trying to improve, to impress.
"Okay," I say. "You go ahead."
She smiles at me, and it's sweet. I am suddenly grateful to have this innocent, shy girl on my side. It's not as good as having Jill with me, but that sweet smile is helping me hold on to sanity by a fine shining string.
Down the hall, Kenneth Sullivan's blood has soaked into the carpet, squishing underfoot. The head has been twisted off the body, blood pouring from the neck, like a gruesome bottle of wine. I try not to look at the corpse as I reach for the knob on the dining-room door.
Rebecca's playing, if such a thing is possible, has actually gotten worse. A chord rings down the hall like a bleat of pain, causing the hackles on the back of my neck to rise.
I smile suddenly. She's alive to butcher the sonata, and I'm alive to cringe at it. Forget finding this funny ten years in the future. I'm laughing now.
*****
Author's Note:
I always feel safe and happy around Chris. He's just that big-brother type, I guess. At any rate he's quite a comforting presence, and I was very pleased to see him today. Registration is busy driving me crazy, so this story was like a little island of serenity in the middle of that stress.
I haven't been very fair to Rebecca, so I consider this story as sort of an apology to her. Of course, if I ever manage to finish the next Leon/Claire fic I'm working on (hope, hope; it's slow going) she'll just be mad at me all over again.
Please review! I accept reviews of all kinds. Please be constructive. Thank you!