need to address very quickly:
- you know what i said about the post going up on saturday? I lied, it’s going up today. I’M GETTING ON A PLANE. TODAY. THIS IS WEIRD. WE HAVEN’T FINISHED PACKING YET.
- This is a
kind ofreally sad story that came out a bit differently than I wanted it to so please excuse that
- love. I will miss you. Though technically I can reach you in Taiwan but shush i’m uninternetting for a month and you should tell me what has happened while I’m away.
Once upon a desolate wasteland, there lived a girl with a violin, which she liked playing very much.
The violin was old: it had been passed down through generations and generations, and was practically a member of the family. Her mother was her teacher, and the girl would practice daily. Very rarely would she go a day without touching it.
Then a war came, a clashing of fire and guns and destruction. Her father was drafted into the army. Every night the girl would play in hopes of his return, filling their little house with intricate melodies.
When the news came that he had been killed on the battlefield, she reached for her violin, and she played him a song of farewell through her tears.
The war drew closer and closer. Her playing grew faster, more agitated, flying through her fingers like quickening heartbeats. Until one day, they could hear the explosions at their doorstep.
The girl and her family descended into their basement, seeking shelter from the explosions. The girl brought her violin, and played it through the night.
As dawn broke and the explosions stopped, they started to head up into the outside world again. Everything was destroyed: houses and streets, debris strewn everywhere. No one had anything left.
High above there came a whining sound. One last plane swooped over the field. Then came the sound of the last explosions, the last lives taken, and the girl raised her bow to the violin strings.
To the accompaniment of death and destruction she played one final cresendo, and fell.
The war was over.