A Passion for Art

I stared down at my furry, clawed hands, then at the gleam of silver that lay just beyond them. I wore little clothing, despite the fact that it was the dead of winter. My fur took care of that. My vision was split in two by the large, protruding muzzle with its black nose at its tip. But I was used to that. How long had it been? I'd gotten used to it, like I'd gotten used to the tail that now lay still on the wooden floor.

I looked up from the open case I sat in front of. On a cabinet was a picture of my dog. How long had it been? Oreo, yeah, that was her name. The black-and-white bundle of fur that brought happiness to my gloomy life.

She stood, alert, ears straight up, the dark parts of her winter coat standing out against the snow. If I looked closely, I could see the leash she was in fact tied to, purposefully buried under the snow for scenic effect. She looked calm yet alert, her head cocked to the side the way dogs often do when puzzled. How long had it been? I felt my ears flatten against my head in sorrow, as I lowered my head in long-remembered grief. How long had it been?

My gaze was then averted to the case that lay on the ground in front of me. It was a brown color, much like the deep brown that was my wooden floor. Like the cabinet. Like the picture frame. A word, once embroidered onto its cloth front, was ravelled away, the word now incomprehensible. If I stared long enough, I could again make out "Stradiv--". Other than that, the case was bare. But it was just the case. It held my passion, violently cut away from me so long ago. I stared down into the open case, the protective cloth cover shifted away. Despite the once velvety texture of the cloth, it was mottled and eaten away by moths. How long had it been?

There was a glint of silver as the light from the attic window fell upon the case's contents. To think of it, this was once expensive. A treasure to be prized; not many would spend so much money on what would seem a trivial thing. Those people I just couldn't understand. Despite the years, I never forgot the ebb and flow of melody. I could clearly recall rows upon rows of violins, violas, cellos, and bases. In the back, I was my sole responsibility to hold it together. I shook my head. It had been too long...

Study and my passion conflicted time after time until I finally abandoned the former. It had seemed such a wise decision on my part. I would actually do something I liked, not something forced upon me by parents. Then came the Change.

I closed my eyes in long remembrance, not forcing back the single tear that came to my eye. When I opened them again, I saw what I normally saw. A coat of gray and white fur. Pawlike hands tipped with claws. The muzzle that ever seemed to want to get in my way. But past that, I once again saw a glint of silver. The contents of the case seemed to radiate a pearly light; an almost divine aura. A divine gift that was rendered obsolete. Choked to the point of unconsciousness, then stabbed through the heart. For a while, I almost felt the art slipping from me...

I clearly remembered the day. I felt pain, felt a burning fire course through my entire body.

I wasn't the only one. Scores of people were hit, their own lives torn apart in less than a minute. Traumatized by watching their own flesh warp before their eyes, they felt not even the slightest glimmer of hope. Some rioted. Some committed suicide. And yet others pressed on forward.

Was that really the right decision? To this day, I still have not a clue.

I glared at the muzzle that continuously obstructed my vision. Because of it, I had lost something so dear to me...

I finally looked down again, barely aware of the tears fogging my own eyes. It seemed like yesterday, but it was so long ago...

Finally, I blinked back my tears and gazed with longing into the case. My face just wasn't constructed to do it anymore. What once could work magic on an audience was reduced to a growling talk. I couldn't even rap anymore. My ears were too sensitive to deal with it anymore, anyhow.

Finally, I reached down and picked up the object. It gleamed silver once again in the sunlight. It had been tarnished, but was miraculously untouched by the eroding waves of time. Fitting a piece on one end and readjusting others, it was back to performance condition. What it was like so long ago... How long had it been?

I looked down at it. No melody came from its bell, no crystal-clear notes pierced the silence. It was a magnificent tool, rendered obsolete. It was worthless. A simple relic of lost times.

Sighing, ears folded back once more in sorrow, I put the trumpet back into its case and put out the lights.