Such pain, such joyous pain.
The ache in her fingers, the ache in her soul.
The metallic strings of the violin cut into her fingers every time she pressed down on the lovely instrument, yet she couldn't seem to stop. The voice of the violin sang of the longing she felt in her soul, of the freedom she yearned to have. The freedom that she could never have- for she was earthbound by the wishes of her family and suppressed by the cages of her own timidness. I want to be free, I want to fly! Her soul screamed against the thunderous roar of the world, muffled by the uncaring voices that shouted her down. Every time she tried to speak up, her lips would cease their movement, and her expression showed nothing of the turbulent girl inside, only the calm meek serenity that everyone knew as Rowan Sim.
The icy winds whistled through the streets, cradling the brittle dried leaves in it's gusty arms. It howled with joy as weak papers and posters fluttered and flew in it's wake, helpless to resist it's chilling call. They yanked at the hairs of disgruntled pedestrians and tugged at any loose ends of clothing, finding malicious amusement in causing disturbance. And within the center of it all stood a girl, quite average, and nothing different from all the other girls. In one hand she carried a black violin case, and the other she wrapped around what little she could protect from the gale. Her head tilted downwards as she headed for the glassy doors of a large steel grey building. Black marble perched on the walls, proudly announcing that this monochrome building was the acclaimed Institute of Music and the Arts. Gloved fingers pushed open the doors, a simple movement- really. Yet, would anyone know the true implications, the feelings that overwhelmed this girl as she went through such a mundane action? The thrill of the taste of freedom, the satisfaction of obtaining the forbidden fruit, the hidden undertone of rebellion.
"Hello," Rowan said softly to the receptionist, in a bid for her attention. The brown haired lady at the table barely looked up from her book, unaware of the girl who now stood at a loss, eyes fixated on the ground nervously. "Excuse me," She tried again, only a smidge louder. Finally, the receptionist looked up, her eyes barely glancing at her. "Where do I go for the audition?" The lady jerked a thumb at the flyer that had been tacked onto the corkboard, stating that the auditions were to be held in the Auditorium. "Thank you," She murmured, backing away and hurrying down the hall. Every step she took, she expected to hear the sharp ring of her mother's reprimands, of her father's disappointment, and of her sister's exasperated tone of, "Why can't you just do as they say?" Because, because, because. All her life she had followed after their instructions, yet silently protesting inside, but unable to do anything about it. What could you really do against the people who clothed you, sheltered you, and raised you?
Nothing, absolutely nothing.
But by sending her away to carry their hopes, had they realized what they'd done? They would have given her an opportunity to break free, to make a living- a name for herself, to finally do what she wanted to do. If only she was brave enough to. No, she still followed their instructions like an obedient little puppet, arms, legs, mouth and thoughts jerking in whatever way they fancied. As she laid her arm on the warm oak door, she wondered, Am I finally cutting the strings?