Author's Note: "No es que yo soy es mi gato es un telefono." -Sharukh's words of wisdom (en Español)
Day Fifteen: Brown Eyes by Lady Gaga
He stared at the piano, loathing it. Such a feeling of intense hatred was only fueled by his own horrible, temperamental mood.
He huffed, looking away from the piano, but still sensed its presence. Though he hated it so, he was just attracted to it.
It was somewhat reminiscent of his own fatal attraction to someone else. Someone with beautiful brown eyes.
Another reason he hated this piano was because he could recall her slender, nimble fingers pressing the keys, playing some beautiful movement by Bach or Beethoven or Handel. And then, of course, her own songs, all of which amazed him. As hard as he tried, he could never quite grasp the art of songwriting; it was simply unattainable.
He sat on the bench, unconsciously glaring at the black instrument with its monochromatic keys. Closing his eyes (rather reluctantly), he began to play. At first, it was just random melodies, but gradually, he began to like what he was playing. He opened his eyes, looking down and watching his fingers move.
He stopped abruptly, the old instrument sighing in disagreement.
He began to wonder about her. It was just a week ago that she was sitting in this exact spot, seemingly content with everything. He looked up, wondering if it was something about this particular spot which swayed her to leave. Once again unconsciously, he began to play the song which she was playing a week ago.
He began to change it until it morphed into something new completely. It became…upbeat and evocative of a pop song.
He stopped abruptly. Where did this come from? He felt like he was grieving this relationship and now his song came out…happy.
For some reason, he couldn't help but feel conned. Wasn't this the moment most songwriters wanted? He felt so vulnerable and pained. It was the perfect time to write a song about heartbreak and pain.
In one of those aha moments, he realized that this was the beginning of their relationship.
Quickly, he pulled out a recording device and began to record this section of the song. After about a minute of playing this tune and variations of it, he lost interest, stopping the recording.
His mind was roaming with many thoughts. Without him realizing it, he began to play a slow, woeful ballad. This was what he was supposed to feel.
It was draining and tiring, he thought, as he continued to play.
Everything is over. You can forget about happily ever after. She's gone.
And she's never coming back.
He slowed down, ending the piece on the minor chord. As he listened to it again, he began to think of ways to change it to make the transition smoother. He began to write it all down, editing it as it went along.
Gradually, it all began to come together. He hadn't slept in two days trying to complete it, but it was better than staying up all night with insomnia. At least he was doing something more productive than just tossing and turning in bed.
Finally, after staying up for so long, he managed to finish it. He played the completed piece a few times over. He continued to sort out all of the dynamics and accents over certain notes until he felt completely satisfied with the piece. He made copies.
Finally, he looked at the copy in his hand, debating what to call it. Should he use her name?
No, he decided.
'Brown Eyes'.
He began to walk in the cold, holding a large envelope with the song in it.
The route to her house was semi-familiar.
On his walk there, he began to think that with this last "letter" to her of sorts, he could finally get peace and closure. Really, he was the one who walked away. He couldn't stay in a relationship with her, as much as it pained him to be out of it now.
Why, people asked, when he wanted so badly just to be with her? Because he couldn't stay around her in her current state. She was addicted. She was ruining herself. He couldn't be around her like that.
Maybe if they were older and both more mature, she wouldn't be using and he wouldn't have to care. Yes, it wasn't fair to pin everything on her, but he saw it as a big influence in the end of her relationship.
He continued to question how he could have been so aloof. Shouldn't he have known? Shouldn't he have been clued in in the slightest?
He felt so stupid; he only knew because he caught her smoking a joint. She was apologetic, but he knew she couldn't quit once he learned of how long she had been addicted.
He walked up to her house. He looked; it was dark and empty. It didn't look like a home.
He looked down at the song once more, weary about actually giving it to her. He wondered if she would even care.
Wearily, he put it in the mailbox of the house. He was about to walk away when he heard laughter from down the street.
He turned and saw her with someone else.
He suddenly felt so wrong and stupid for leaving things in such a horrible state. He felt so sorry.
But he also felt saddened, seeing how quickly she got over him. It almost wasn't fair.
She hadn't even noticed him as he walked away into the dark. He left her in peace, thinking of her brown eyes.
She walked outside in the morning, practically feeling the dew on her skin. To her surprise, she spotted the manila peeking out of the mailbox.
She pulled it out.
A silly song about you and how I lost you and your brown eyes.
She tore open the envelope and stared at it, quite confused. She recognized the handwriting right away and it broke her heart a little bit. She went back into the house, sitting in front of her baby grand piano.
She began to read it with ease, hearing the beginning with its upbeat, perky mood. She felt the mood and temperature change drastically, her blood turning cold as she reached the next section.
As she finished playing, she wrote out some corrections to the song where it could've used some work, including adding about eight or nine more measures between the transitions of the song.
Satisfied with her work, she walked back to his house.
With the corrected form of the song, she left a note.
I don't think you lost me and my brown eyes.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. Before you get started, I know. This sucked. It was horrible, easily the worst thing I have ever put out there. I think the next one should be better. Hopefully. It'll definitely be dirtier.
eveningshades1107: Well, I guess it's fitting that you're called back for Miss Hannigan considering you "hate children". Tell me who you got, okay? I'll be here, chanting "Sarah! Sarah! Sarah!" That tiny, annoying, high pitched voice you hear calling your name is me. I will be happy for you, even though, truth be told, I am SUPER jealous, as it seems I am going through some vocal problems right now (and it is really scary). Why does everyone keep thinking that Toby's niece is either a boy or transgender boy to girl? I'm sorry, this is just like the third or fourth question I got about this. Not that it's a problem (IDK about you, but I am very proud to be an ally of the LGBT community. I just wish people would take all those negative or "odd" connotations away from the word "gay". Like, I am so gay right now. I am so, so happy. See? That's the way that word was meant to be used.
AL3110: You've got a sick mind. I guess that's why we're good friends. Stay eccentric, AL.
Spobyforever259: Ugh, I just finished reading Romeo and Juliet, and I actually HATE it. I am probably the first girl ever to say that, but it's true. I can delve into that more, if you'd like me to, but I'll leave it at that for now. Your name? Is your name Maria? Was that the name I used? I don't even remember. That's my aunt's name. Cool. I left Melissa's husband intentionally vague because I had no idea who I wanted it to be. So it's not for any special reason, just my indecisiveness. Oh, and it's AU. Sorry, I just forgot to mention it. Most of these one shots will probably be AU. I just think that pretty much anything could happen if it's AU, which is fitting with all of the songs I have to get through. Thank you!
Okay, next one shot is Move Like U Stole It by ZZ Ward and you should listen to her, because...dirty shine.
Okay, bye! -Kayson