Drabble Nine
Sometimes Glinda liked to think of her life as a piece of music. The grace and flow, the jagged ends and crescendos.
Her birth was obviously the first fanfare. Flutes and clarinets played merrily as she flitted through her childhood, pain-free and winsome. Upper register, upbeat, a purely joyful movement.
Then she met Elphaba. The music had never been the same. The deeper instruments came forth as she first experienced rejection, hate, sorrow.
But look, a rise! The music rediscovered its previous vivacity as she fell in love, experienced desire, true happiness, truly being appreciated.
As sure as no music is true without complication, no life is meaningful with no deeper feeling. Elphaba left her in the carriage, eyes pooling with tears, and the music came to a standstill. Surely there had to be reprieve from this pain. Surely this couldn't last, this numbness to the life she used to greet with open arms.
Yet the music goes on. Movements come and go, superficial and false. But hark, a crescendo! The climax has been reached, the music swells and rises to unknown heights! Elphaba, her Elphaba, has come back to her! She prays to the Unnamed God that she will never leave her again. And she doesn't.
Two wrinkled, wizened bodies rest in bed, laying their heads upon the pillow. Eyes close. A double bar is reached. The music stops.