Octavia eyed the stereo system that sat untouched in her apartment. For a moment she considered throwing it out, but the idea was dismissed as quickly as it came. It had been a gift from her brother, after all, and it wouldn’t do to get rid of it. He’s mocking me, Octavia thought with a sour look on her face. All the times I’ve told him how much I hate all the modern, overproduced garbage that sucks the soul out of music, and look what he gives me. This monstrosity and a case of his favorite CDs.
With a slight shake of her head, Octavia forced herself to forget about it for the time being. She glanced at her cello, sitting alone in a corner of the room and gathering dust for the first time in years. Gulping, she slowly moved her hoof over it, feeling the smooth varnish and the gentle curve of the instrument. Octavia narrowed her eyes, picked up her bow, and pulled her cello into playing position.
She tightened the bow, applied new rosin, and, closing her eyes, began to tune. As soon as she was satisfied with the instrument’s tuning, she launched into a series of scales with mechanical efficiency and precision. Finally ready, Octavia grabbed one of the many sheets of music scattered around the apartment and set it on her stand. Feeling a slight rush of anticipation, she began to play.
It took her only a few lines to realize something was wrong. Intonation wasn’t the problem; each note was perfectly in tune. She was certain it wasn’t her rhythm either, unless her metronome was broken. Frowning, she started again from the beginning only to stop almost immediately. What is this? she thought, panicking. It sounds almost like...like...her darting eyes alighted on the stereo system and she groaned softly. No soul. Guess I’m just not into this piece today. Well, fine. I know how to fix this.
Smiling, Octavia placed a new piece on her stand and began to play. It didn’t take long for her to realize that her heart wasn’t in this one, either. She pursed her lips and tried another, and another, but was vexed to find that the problem persisted no matter how many pieces she went through. Fast, slow, upbeat, mournful, it made no difference. None of them inspired her today.
At her wit’s end and nearly frantic from her mounting frustration, she placed her favorite piece, “Kolt Nidrei,” on the stand. Allowing herself a moment to steady her nerves and stop the shaking in her hooves, she began. Her bow flowed up and down over the strings as she felt the cello become an extension of herself, just as it should be. The notes soared around her, an unbroken cascade of honey that drifted out of her open window, falling over the sleepy streets of early-morning Canterlot. And yet Octavia could not help but feel that something was still wrong.
She approached the climax of the piece, crescendoing gradually up to it, building in intensity more and more until...nothing. In a flash, the climax had passed by and Octavia had barely even noticed. There was no rush of feeling, no true resolution for the wealth of emotion in the piece. It took only moments for her to realize why. Of course, she thought. There’s no accompaniment. I’m playing half a piece. With a sigh, she put down her cello and turned to look at the piano she had tried and failed to hide behind the few bits of furniture in her austere home.
Feeling her mouth dry up, she shuffled up to it and caressed its top with her hoof, disturbing the layer of dust that had accumulated. She stood still, lost in thought as she remembered the countless times its notes had tumbled out into the air, filled with such unquenchable fire. She reached a hoof over the keyboard, inching closer and closer before pulling away with a shudder.
Abruptly, she gave her nearby couch a savage kick. Flicking her hoof, she ripped off her bowtie and threw it across the room. For a few long minutes she stomped around her apartment, screaming and laying waste to everything in her path but her cello, the piano, and the stereo system, stopping only when the tremors of her hoofsteps caused a large stack of CDs to fall to the floor.
Octavia blushed as she came back to her senses and moved to pick them up. She snorted as she looked at their covers, graced by “artists” like Buck Sabbath, Neighvana, and Death Cab for Cutie Mark. They were her brother’s, of course. She could never understand how such an accomplished musician could enjoy such drivel. Rolling her eyes occasionally, she continued on at a steady pace. At the bottom of the pile was a simple, unadorned plastic CD case. Curious, Octavia opened it. Inside was a white disk, blank but for a messily scribbled note in her brother’s hoofwriting that read, “For Octy.”
Trembling, Octavia took it out of its case, slipped it into the stereo, and pressed play. For a long, tense moment, silence filled the room. Her shoulders slumped and she was about to eject the disk when a weak, tired voice began to flow through the speakers.
“Sorry about this. I know how much you hate new technology, you dinosaur,” at this it gave an abortive attempt at a laugh that dissolved into a fit of coughing. “But this is top of the line stuff, really! It sounds almost as good as a live concert, you’ll see. So...forgive me for bailing on our practice sessions, okay? Look, to make it up to you, I’ll play one last time. This one’s your favorite, right?” After the voice finished talking, the piano accompaniment to “Kolt Nidrei” began to play through the speakers.
Octavia stood blinking for several seconds before she hurriedly picked up her cello and began to play along with the recording. Never had she imagined that a CD could sound so perfect. Her bow slid across the strings with a passion she hadn’t felt in years. Piano and cello mingled in the air, dancing together, not quite combining nor staying completely separate. The final notes of the piece did not die, but hung in the air long after they were played, creating a stillness that was broken only by the recording’s final words.
“I love you, Octy. Never forget that, okay?”
I'd like to give a big thanks to everybody that read this before the editing and helped improve it, and a slightly smaller thanks to you for reading it now. Writing without an audience is like cooking food and then throwing it away, so seriously, thanks a bunch.
Octavia eyed the stereo system that sat untouched in her apartment. For a moment she considered throwing it out but immediately she dismissed the idea. It had been a gift from her brother, after all, and it wouldn't do to get rid of it. He's mocking me, Octavia thought with a sour look on her face. All the times I've told him how much I hate all the modern, overproduced garbage that sucks the soul out of music, and look what he gives me. This monstrosity and a case of his favorite CDs.
With a slight shake of her head, Octavia forced herself to forget about it for the moment. She glanced at her cello, sitting alone in a corner of the room and gathering dust for the first time in years. Gulping, she slowly moved her hoof over it, feeling the smooth varnish and the gentle curve of the instrument. Octavia narrowed her eyes, picked up her bow, and pulled her cello into playing position.
She tightened her bow, applied new rosin, and, closing her eyes, began to tune. As soon as she was satisfied with the instrument's tuning she launched into a series of scales with mechanical efficiency and precision. Finally ready to play, Octavia grabbed one of the many sheets of music scattered around the apartment and set it on her stand.
It took her only moments to realize something was wrong. Her intonation wasn't the problem; each note was perfectly in tune. She was certain it wasn't her rhythm either, unless her metronome was broken. Frowning, she started again from the beginning only to stop again almost immediately. What is this? she thought, panicking. It sounds almost like...like...her darting eyes alighted on the stereo system and she groaned softly. No soul. Guess I'm just not into this piece today. Well, fine. I know how to fix this.
Smiling slightly, Octavia placed a new piece on her stand and began to play it. It didn't take long for her to realize her heart wasn't in this one either. She was vexed to find that the problem persisted no matter how many pieces she went through. Fast, slow, upbeat, mournful, it made no difference. None inspired her today.
At her wit's end, nearly frantic from her mounting frustration, she placed her favorite piece, "Kolt Nidrei" on the stand. Allowing herself a moment to steady her nerves and stop the shaking in her hooves, she began. Her bow flowed up and down over the strings as she felt the cello become an extension of herself, just as it should be. The notes soared around the room, an unbroken cascade of honey. And yet Octavia could not help but feel that something was still wrong.
She approached the climax of the piece, crescendoing gradually up to it, building in intensity more and more until...nothing. In a flash, the climax had passed by and Octavia had barely even noticed. There was no rush of feeling, no true resolution for the wealth of emotion in the piece. It took only moments for her to realize why. Of course, she thought. There's no accompaniment. With a sigh, she put down her cello and turned to look at the piano she had tried and failed to hide behind the few bits of furniture in her austere home.
Feeling her mouth dry up, she shuffled up to it and caressed its top with her hoof, disturbing the layer of dust that had accumulated. She stood there for a time, frozen, before abruptly giving the couch beside it a savage kick. Flicking her hoof, she ripped off her bowtie and threw it across the room. For a few long minutes she stomped around her apartment, screaming and laying waste to everything but her cello, the piano, and the stereo system, stopping only when the tremors of her hoofsteps caused a large stack of CDs to fall to the floor.
Octavia blushed as she came back to her senses and moved to pick them up. She snorted as she looked at their covers, graced by "artists" like Buck Sabbath, Neighvana, and Death Cab for Cutie Mark. They were her brother's, of course. She could never understand how such an accomplished musician could enjoy such garbage. She continued on at a steady pace, rolling her eyes occasionally. At the bottom of the pile she was surprised to find a simple, unadorned plastic CD case. Curious, Octavia opened it. Inside was a white disk, blank but for a messily scribbled note in her brother's hoofwriting that read, "For Octy."
Trembling, Octavia took it out of its case, slipped it into the stereo, and pressed play. For a long, tense moment, silence filled the room. She was about to eject the disk when a weak voice began to flow through the speakers.
"Sorry about this. I know how much you dinosaurs hate new technology," at this it gave an abortive attempt at a laugh. "But this is top of the line stuff, really! It sounds almost as good as a live concert, you'll see. So...forgive me for bailing on our practice sessions, okay?" After the voice finished talking, the piano accompaniment to "Kolt Nidrei" began to play through the speakers, punctuated occasionally by the faint sound of muffled coughing.
Octavia stood blinking for several seconds, stunned beyond measure, before she hurriedly picked up her cello and began to play along with the recording. Never had she imagined a CD could sound so perfect. Her bow slid across the strings with a passion she hadn't felt in years. Piano and cello mingled in the air, dancing together, not quite combining nor staying completely separate. The final notes of the piece did not die but hung in the air long after they were played, creating a stillness that was broken only by the recording's final words.
"I love you, Octy. Never forget that, okay?"
