The Red and Grey

The Student News Site of Madison County High School

The Red and Grey

The Red and Grey

Grief

I sat there as she played, her bangs gently brushing against her forehead. She’d done this before, illuminating the den with her faint light, playing just loudly enough that she knew I’d hear it and come downstairs. It should have been comforting, but instead it was just unsettling. Her melody was a mezzo forte by the time I’d reached her.

                                    She didn’t turn to look back at me.

                                                                          Just like always…

With her familiar stance, she continued playing, smiling serenely. Almost unnoticeable. I shifted from the entrance to the desk, at an adagio pace, quietly leaning atop it.  Maybe she’d let me hear the whole thing this time. 

                                                                          Just one last time…

She must’ve known what I was thinking, she always was clever.  Of course she only does this to tease me.  So I keep coming back.  She knows I’ll keep coming back.  I haven’t left.  

As she reaches the middle of the song, she lifts her hands, just like always, to build suspense, just like I told her I liked.  She always did like to do the things I enjoyed… She placed her fingers back down, softly pressing the keys.  As if to caress my heart.  The cunning woman.  As if to say she’d let me go this time, she continued to play her saccharine melody once again.  She sped her pace up to an allegro tempo. Just like she always did at this part.

                                                                        Just as she always did…

She always does this.  She knows I can’t sleep without her, but at this rate, I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep *with* her either.  Every night, I hear her melody, every night she teases me with it.

                                         Every night.  

                                                          Every. single. night.

                                                                              Haunting me. 

The little temptress.  She knows. She always did.  It gets harder and harder for me everytime. She can’t keep doing this. 

                                                          I can’t keep doing this.

                                                                               Why is she still doing this to me??

But, as I’ve said, she’s a sly devil and she knows my desires.  And she knows what I want. What I need. 

So she’ll keep leading me on, she’ll continue to rip me apart, from the inside out.  Of course she won’t stop.  Why would she?  She’s having fun.  Just like always, just like she used to. 

The chords she entertained proceeded to destroy me.  Just like she wanted. She does this every time.

                                                      Every time.

                                                                           Please, why does she do this every time?  

The tortuous sound persisted at a presto tempo, continuing to get faster and faster. 

                          Maybe she’ll let me hear it this time.

                                                                    Maybe.   Just maybe.

                                                                                           Please.

                          My pose trembling, I get hopeful. 

                                                                                           Desperate.

                          But, alas, just like always.

                                                                 Just like I knew she would.

                                                                                             Just like she always does.

She gets to the peak of her solo, her song tearing at me.  Clawing into me.  Prizing into my soul.  Snatching away my will once again.

                          Please.

                                                                  I beg you. 

                                                                                              Please, just let me hear it.

But alas, she knows.  Just like always. She makes me crazy.

                         Here comes the end. 

                                                                She reaches the last few notes.

                                                                                                 Please.    Please.

                                                                                                                                   Please.

And just like the night before, and the night before that, and just like every other night from the first till now, and I know it won’t be the last.  She gets to the second to last note.

                                                                And….. And……. And………

                                                                                                  She dissipates. 

Her unfinished chord resonating,  blaring,   ringing.

                                                      I know she’ll come back tomorrow night.  Just like always.

                                                                Just like her.

                                                                                   Why can’t she just let me go.

                                                                                                                      This is so like her.

I sob quietly on the ground, mourning. Her melody constantly fresh in my mind. Her light still faintly bathing the room.

                                                               Just like always.

                                                                                          Everytime.

                                                                                                                    Please.

                                                                Just why can’t I let her go? 

 

This story was written as an assignment for guitar class. It was inspired by the painting below. 

“Spirit” by George Roux (1885)
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About the Contributor
Ryleigh Cabaniss, Staff Writer
Ryleigh is a junior this year, and it is her first year on The Red and Grey's staff.  Ryleigh is a devoted member of the MCHS Marching Band and our theatre program. She loves wearing unique earrings, asking questions, and overthinking everything.

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