The lights, the stage, the bustling crowd, it had never felt so emotionally charged for Octavia in her life. For years she had performed because she loved the cello and loved the music, now she was preparing to step on stage and let her heart bleed for the world to see. Her own composition was the entire show. Her soul would be laid bare.
She could already feel the heat of the stage lights from behind the curtain. The murmur of the crowd preparing for the show, restlessly fidgeting in their seats and flipping through their programs to see what other shows were coming to town soon, fell deafly on her ears. A deep breath in and then out. Her hoof rested on the strings, the cold metal bit at her.
The lights fell and the crowd noise fell to silence. The hoofsteps of the theater manager echoed as she took her place in front of the curtain. Time was winding down, the ticking of an invisible clock ticking in Octy’s mind. Deep breaths, focus, it was just a performance.
The manager gave her usual spiel about supporting the arts and conveyed her heartfelt gratitude to all of the patrons. It was a good thing she was a manager and not an actor because her play at quaintly advertising for the next theater season had come off about as subtle as a Flim and Flam marketing scheme. Dear Celestia, even her laugh was gratingly phony.
“It is without further ado that we here at the Canterlot Performing Arts Center present Octavia Melody performing her own composition Gently into the Sunlight. Enjoy.” Her hoofsteps sounded across the stage and the lights went black as the curtain rolled back.
The stage lights came up, their intense heat hitting her immediately. She could see the silhouettes of ponies in the crowd, their dark forms haunting her vision. It wouldn’t start until she lifted her bow. Bidding the crowd a silent goodbye, she closed her eyes and brought the bow to the strings. Movement one began.
Her mind danced about, sheet music and notes lost in her memories. The music wasn’t scripted to her, it was memory itself, her senses given form. She felt the warmth of the sun against her coat. The muscles in her face contracted into a smile. All was well. The calm before her storm.
Love, warmth, and care filled her heart and the music. The slow and pleasant note progressions filled the theater with a warm feeling. The feeling of coming home, seeing a loved one, and perhaps even something as small as a fleeting joyous memory permeated the air. Comfort, above all else, was there, as fleeting as a daydream.
She made no move to pause between her movements. This was a story. To give pause would detract from the heart of it. She hit a sour note. It was completely intentional, of course. It brought the audience to a sudden sharp feeling of discomfort. The mind knew music even when it wasn’t musically inclined and dissonance caused tension.
Her pace quickened and her key changed. The uncertainty and fear filling the room. A wonderful dream shattered in a matter of moments, unforeseen to all in attendance. Each progression of notes was penned to leave the audience wanting a conclusion, that return to the root note letting them feel closure, but that was not now this was. This was anxiety, anger, and pain. To give closure, to let the pressure off, would be a lie.
Octy grit her teeth as she played this part, feeling it over and over again. The weight in her chest and the fear in Vinyl’s eyes were given form and freed for the world to feel. These notes felt pink to her, the bright pink of Vinyl’s eyes wide and afraid as she begged for forgiveness. It had been a struggle to make her pink notes feel tense, but somehow, she had managed.
Next came the dark and enveloping sea. Hollowness and suffocation in musical form. She slowed once more, the music feeling as though it was trudging through molasses. The depth of her music was crushing, some in the audience struggled to breathe.
So as to not affect her music, Octy tensed her neck. Moving through this portion was always a struggle. The vacuous hole that she and Vinyl had shared threatened to envelop her, but she had a duty to her music to push on and fight through. It was an uphill battle against her own body and mind, but soon enough her music picked up to a cautionary calm.
The new portion felt stagnant, the notes were fine and the progressions comfortable, but there was something missing. The music was stuck, so to speak. She tasted tea in her mouth and felt the cool crystal floors of Twilight’s castle beneath her hooves. Her routine played out before her, but the emptiness remained.
Mystery crept into the music, a bit of confusion. The notes became staccato and a bit sporadic, leaving the audience to wonder where and what the next sound may be. Bewilderment soon faded into curiosity. She could feel the dirt beneath her hooves as she approached Vinyl.
A moment of tension, drawing the bow rapidly back and forth on a moderately high note. A held breath. A moment of uncertainty; what would happen next?
She grew frantic in her notes, rapidly spilling out pain and aggression in the manic dance of her hoof over the neck of her cello. Madness! A flash fire of emotion suddenly thrust upon the audience as the muscles in Octy’s hind legs tensed. The need to fight or flee filled the room and the indecision sprinkled below the cacophony left one shaking with emotion.
The music slowed into a simmer. Moving about with nothing but distaste in one’s mouth, but slowly a build of hope. Bittersweet hope, be that as it may, but hope none the less crept above the anger. The desperation for that hope to be well-founded found its way into the music.
The staccato deep notes that followed revealed the villain to the audience. The hope had been well-founded but the situation became much more sinister. The raging tempest began. The villain had the high ground and the hero would struggle to save what was valuable to them. The story moved along.
A calm approached. The opportunity for the hero to prevail, but this was only the eye of the storm.
The hope was quickly dashed, the sinister tones returning to the music. The sounds of a losing battle crashed on enamored ears of the audience. Lost opportunity was, perhaps, the most bitter pill to swallow. Truly feeling as though all hope is lost and simply awaiting the abrupt end; it was a completely different pain from all of the others. It wasn’t rage. It wasn’t hollow. There was no sorrow in it or tension. It was the terrible truth of powerlessly waiting for the inevitable. A leaf in the wind, so to speak.
A surprise! Hope returned. The hero had allies to aid her against the villain. They beat it back while she was free to find what she had been seeking to help. The race was on.
She could see it in her mind, the look of Vinyl laying in the grass under the warm sunlight. This was her final movement. She called back to the opening, the same feeling of sunlight and warmth, but there was something more. Or maybe there was something missing. It would depend on who was asked. The point was, the music grew into a melancholy hope, loud and full of love, but as soon as that hope was there. As soon as she could feel Vinyl’s breaths slowing. The music slowed with it until it eventually died out.
There had been no punctuation. That wasn’t how loss worked. Loss didn’t have an end that one could feel. Losing someone, or something, you care about will always rest somewhere in your heart. Remembering the good times helped, but for some, they would always be bittersweet.
Tears in her eyes, Octavia dropped her bow to her side.
The audience flew out of their seats, some in tears and others in awe. It had been a truly magical performance.
Octavia took a deep breath, letting some of her tension go. Bowing to the audience and nodding in thanks, the curtains closed.
She had refused to be seen by anyone following her performance. Flowers and other congratulatory gifts were left outside her door. Emotionally exhausted and in need of a hot cup of tea, she tended to her cello in silence. The bow was the first thing to go away, after a performance like that she wouldn’t be surprised if she’d need a new one.
She sat, staring at her cello for a while. She didn’t know how long, but it felt like forever. It was her Stalivarius cello. She ran her hoof gently over the carefully crafted wood, admiring the additions that Princess Twilight had incorporated at her request.
One would have to be close to it to see it, but small streaks of two-toned blue hairs were embedded in the wood. The neck had a thin line of reflective purple glass embedded in the side. And on the back of the neck, just where her hoof would rest before she started playing, the words In Loving Memory of Vinyl Scratch were engraved.
With a sullen frown, Octavia slipped her instrument away. The sound of thunder rolled just outside the building and without a word, she slipped out the back door and let the water cascade over her. Her tears and quiet sobs masked by the storm.
