The front door swung open as Octavia stomped inside her home; her clothes soaking as a result of the raging thunderstorm outside. The cellist ripped the wet jacket off her body and violently threw it onto the wooden floors. Even with the jacket no longer stuck to her body, her soaking clothes still had a saturated grip on her figure making it hard to move. The wind began to blow rain through the open door and onto the floor; causing Octavia to slip and fall after moving to close to door.
Octavia groaned.
After she gradually picked herself up off the floor, she turned towards the door and slammed it shut. She was glad the door wasn't made of wood. Otherwise it would've broken into splinters. The cellist headed towards the kitchen and threw the refrigerator door open; taking out a can of beer and drinking out of it. As she made her way towards the living room, she felt a vibration in her back pocket. It was her phone, and it had been ringing for the past hour.
She groaned once again; this time clenching her fists before taking the wretched device out of her pocket and answering it.
"Yes?" Octavia said in tone of mild annoyance.
"Octavia, I have been calling you for the past hour!! Care to explain?!" The voice on the other end was none other then her cold, heartless master who practically controlled her life nowadays. Her manager.
"Busy." Octavia replied, her voice sounding cold and emotionless.
Her manager scoffed, "I hardly believe you've been busy, seeing as how another one of your concerts was a failure of epic proportions! Barely any people even bothered to show up!"
The cellist clenched her jaw. "Well forgive me but I've been trying my absolute hardest to keep up with the industry. With each failed composition I've written, I only put more and more effort into the composition that follows."
As the rain came pouring down, the thunder only roared louder.
Her manager's voice suddenly dropped to no louder than a whisper, "You see, that's where you're wrong. None of that matters...none of it."
Octavia growled into the phone, "Then pray tell, what does matter?!"
The line went silent for a few seconds before the manager spoke up.
"In the entertainment industry, there is only one thing that matters: giving the people what they want. And to do that you need to keep up with the world. If you fall behind or fail to do that, they lose interest in you, or they don't even bother to give you a second glance! You did just that. You couldn't keep up! You couldn't write piece that even mildly interested anyone enough to even consider attending any of your concerts!"
A chill ran down the cellist's spine before she interrupted her manager, "It's not as if people are not interested in my work. I've had pieces that have brought some to tears. Songs that have inspired people to go out into the world and be better people. I'm not a failure. Tell me...why did you even hire me in the first place if all you see is a failure?!?!"
The thunder roared second time, this one louder than before as well as lightning that could be seen in the distance through the cellist's living room window.
"I didn't hire you. The person I hired was not the same one I speak with now. The girl I hired was a young ambitious cellist who was top of her class, smart, talented, but above all, had a reputation that spoke for her as a person. I talked to all of her teachers and they all told me the same thing, "Octavia Melody is a talented musician with a bright future. One day, she might even be one of the greatest cellists of all time." Everyone believed in her, and she saw that she had a future. But something happened..."
Octavia's heart skipped a beat.
"She failed. She failed at the one thing she was suppose to be good at! Instead of keeping up with the industry, she decided to go her own path. To try and truly be the best even though she was young and inexperienced. But it was then that she realized...she couldn't compete with them. She fell behind, and she was left in the dust."
Octavia snapped, "I’VE DONE EVERYTHING I CAN TO KEEP UP! I’VE GIVEN EVERYTHING I’VE GOT INTO THESE LAST COUPLE COMPOSITIONS, DONE EVERY LAST THING I CAN TO MAKE SURE THEY’RE FINE TUNED TO PERFECTION, AND TRIED EVERYTHING I COULD TO SUCCEED!!"
A single tear ran down her face. Both her hands were clenched into fists and she was doing her best to hold back a river of tears.
Octavia's manager just screamed right back,"AND WHAT HAS COME OF IT?! MORE PAIN AND FAILURE! OH, YOU JUST THINK YOU KNOW IT ALL DON'T YOU?! WELL GUESS WHAT, YOU DON'T! YOU NEVER HAVE AND NEVER WILL! IF YOU CAN'T COMPETE WITH WHAT'S CONSIDERED TO BE THE AVERAGE MUSICIAN THEN WHAT ARE YOU?! WHO ARE YOU?! WHAT HAPPENED TO THE CELLIST WHO WAS PROMISED THE WORLD IN HIGH SCHOOL?"
Octavia slammed her fists against the table.
"ANSWER ME! WHAT HAPPENED?!?!"
The line went dangerously silent. The sound that could be heard was the sound of the rain pouring onto the house. The tension was thick enough to be cut with a knife.
Octavia sniffled, "S-she grew up..."
"Well maybe your just not good enough to be a cellist! Your "talent" may have made you stand out in high school, but you’re in the real world now, where just because you made a few of your favorite teacher's cry doesn't mean your special! I know what you want Octavia, you want attention! I know because it’s every entertainers dream. Every creator longs to be validated with some sort of sign that they're special. That if people enjoy what they create, then maybe they can make a difference. But here's where it all goes downhill for you. Nobody has bothered to give you any signs! Nobody even cares! To them you're just another girl trying ever-so-hard to make it big, but failing all the same. That's the sad little girl I'm talking to now. That's the wanna-be who will never get farther then an -A on musical theory assignment. Goodbye Octavia....."
The call ended.
Octavia slammed her fists against the wall and screamed. A cascade of tears poured down her face as she continued to thrash her fists on the concrete walls; scraping her hands in the process. Minutes passed, but the screaming didn’t stop. The tears kept coming as did the blood gushing out of her fists. By the time the beating had stopped the yellow walls were stained with blood red. Octavia only stood there for a moment; her forehead leaning against the wall before her legs gave out and she sank to the floor. Now there was only one sound. The sound of the cellist’s sobs as they echoed through the hallways of the house. When the constant flow of tears finally did stop, Octavia wiped them away and picked herself up off the ground. She led herself to the couch where all she could do was stare at her phone; getting lost in the endless void that was her mind and the voices that haunted her.
Every composition I write is no different than the last....
The rain hadn't slowed down, but instead picked up steadily. The thunder only getting louder right along with it.
All I've done is let all the people who believed in my talent down
The wind howled and blew against the small house
If I can't do the one thing I thought I was meant to do, then who am I?
As the hours went by, the rain began to slow down, as did the rest of the storm. When the noise around her stopped and the voices in her head cease to exist, there was a single thought that plagued her mind. A question of her own concoction...
Why make music in the first place? Why create?
As this question entered her mind there was a single knock at the door. Octavia debated whether or not to answer it, seeing as how she looked like an abuse victim at the moment, but she decided to go through with it anyways. The cellist opened the door to see a blonde-haired girl with wall eyes and a letter in hand staring back at her.
"For you miss." The girl said, holding out a letter of some sorts for Octavia to take. Octavia hesitantly took the letter and stared at the address; unable to identify it. Before she could reenter her house with the letter, the mail women called out to her once more, "Oops...almost forgot, could you sign this please.?" The cellist rolled her eyes before signing the sheet on the clipboard and entering her home once more. The cellist also took this as an opportunity to get some firewood she had in her garage and light the fireplace; giving the house a warm orange glow.
Octavia sat down on her coffee table and opened the letter.
Dear Ms. Melody,
First of all, I would like to take this chance as an opportunity to say how big of a fan me and my son are of your work. We believe your compositions are an inspiration to the classical music community that many should follow. Secondly, I would like to thank you for something a bit more personal. You see, my son and I once had an extremely strong bond as mother and son. That bond came to an end on his 18th birthday, when we got into a rather heated debate about a topic I'd rather not discuss. A few days after he had left us a note, saying that he had ran away from home and was never coming back. It broke my heart. Fast forward to your last concert.
It had been 18 years since my son and I had last spoken. I decided to attend one of your concerts, in memory of the times him and I would listen to some of your most heart wrenching pieces. I couldn't contain myself during the performance, so I ran outside to cry. The memories were too much for me. As I attempted to leave, I heard the sounds of sobbing. I looked around the corner and to my utter surprise, it was my son. He was sitting in the back row, drowning himself in tears. He looked over to find me hugging him, telling him how much I missed him.
He cried and cried, telling me about how much he regretted running away and how he thought we would never forgive him for it if he tried to come back. I hugged him tighter and told him how much I loved him, and how something as silly as running away would never change that. In the end, we had made amends and enjoyed the rest of the concert. It was beautiful. I apologize for bothering you with this sad sob story, but I just had to thank the person responsible for bringing my son back to me. Thank you, and please remember that even if that composition may not be as popular as you had hoped, your music will forever be in our hearts. Thank you Ms.Melody. Thank you for bringing my family back together.
With love,
Mrs. P
A set of fresh tears landed on the letter. Octavia was utterly speechless; a small smile forming on her face. She chuckled a bit, followed by a sniffle.
The cellist whipped away her tears, "How silly of me, to think that I was a failure...simply because I wasn't as popular as the other musicians It doesn't matter how many likes or views my work gets on the internet, or how many awards my songs receive, or even how many people attend my concert, what matters...is that music has the power to change the world. And by continuing to play the cello, or compose songs, or write compositions, I can do what a lot of musicians only dream of doing. I can bring people together. And that is a cause I am willing to fight for. That is the reason I make music in the first place. That is why...I create."
Author's Note
Hey everyone, Good Vibes here again! So I'm pretty sure the story behind this one was pretty clear. If not, that's okay, I was gonna explain it even if you did get it. So I'm pretty sure we've all been there. That weird writing slump you get stuck in where everything you write goes unnoticed, no matter how much effort you put into it.
It sucks, especially if you've been working on the piece for a while. This goes for any creator of any creation. It can be tough when your hard work goes unnoticed, but in the end, it doesn't come down to how many likes your video gets or how many up-votes your fan fiction receives. It's about how your work impacts others, and how you if do your best, you can change the world. Thanks for reading guys. I hope you all enjoyed it.
p.s- I forgot to mention: The role of the manager represents what happens when you doubt yourself. That whole scene is essentially a conversation with yourself.
