Bow, strings and lights

in photography •  4 years ago 

It is a small experiment in creativity, you choose a word, search a free resource site for the image or photograph that results in a list, and then write a short narrative about it.

The word chosen was: Music

ScreenShot_20200913150837.png

Source: PxHere

I'm watching a lively performance of music. I see this young woman vibrating and swaying her body along with her music.

I am not a great connoisseur, but I like what I hear and I see that she does it with a lot of passion. That is enough for me, it is enough for me to be able to feel that you are doing the best you can in what you do.

I see her, but it seems that no one else is paying attention. We are in the street, in a corner of a public square, it is not yet night, but certainly that afternoon is already falling. Today, due to destiny, I have the day off, I was able to finish some pending procedures and I had enough time to be able to take a quiet time, so I decided to walk instead of taking public transportation.

Who would know that I would come across this music. I was passing through the square and suddenly I heard that they began to play a melody that I could not recognize. It was happy, a bit messy, alive ... well, it was music that called me and I looked where it came from.

I stopped in front of the young woman who was playing her violin and was intrigued by why no one else was paying attention or why they were not seeing her, plus it seemed a bit strange to me that this young woman had nothing to indicate that she was playing to look for a payment from the public, but I also did not find that it carried any publicity of any concert or cultural event that was going to be held.

I pushed aside all unnecessary ideas at the time and enjoyed her music. I felt my body vibrate and my heartbeat seemed to synchronize with the deep rhythm of her performance. It was like magic, as if I was getting rid of a lot of weight, as if nothing else in the world weighed.

She finished and before I could clap or ask anything, she turned gracefully but abruptly and started moving, I was surprised, it is as if she does not care if someone heard her or not, she just left.

I looked around feeling that I had made a fool of myself by stopping to listen, but I did not see anyone ... In fact, there was no one... a moment ago there were people, but now I am alone.

The sky darkens very quickly, the atmosphere seems to blur.

What's going on? !

Everything seems to disappear and the space around me is shrinking, the darkness devours everything and I cannot hear any sound in the distance, nor feel the wind or perceive any sensation of the places already covered by darkness.

Really, what is going on here? !

I am suffocating, the darkness is approaching and I am already very afraid, I tremble uncontrollably and I cannot move from where I was standing. suddenly I feel something completely crazy, a crazy idea. Go up!

If I can't go anywhere horizontally and I don't want to bury myself under the ground, then I must go up!

Madness?

Yes, it is crazy, but more crazy was that I felt that above me, the space was clearing and that my body could ascend by my own will, as if it were made of smoke.

In a rebuilt square, in an old city. A young woman performs a ritual for which she was hired, simply playing a requiem for the victims. She does it with total care in each corner that was assigned to her and hopes to meet her daily goal, in a short time all the people hired will be able to fulfill this strange contract.

She does not mind playing in an empty space, although sometimes she has the strange sensation that someone is watching her, in those moments she immediately withdraws when she finishes. It is surely a deception of your senses, that is what your brain tells you, but it is not a feeling that generates comfort and you prefer to get away from such places as quickly as you can.

She stops at the next esquita, takes a deep breath, and proceeds to start over...

A requiem is raised for the souls of the deceased and for the mourning of ours that still lives.



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