It's been weeks, the Flower Festival was today. I hadn't had Alice in any of my jobs since then, but she had managed to meet with me every morning, the time in which we locked eyes gradually becoming earlier and earlier, and she had even managed to watch the sunrise with me a few times, despite entering wintertime.
And today, I stood nervously in my room, the extravagant festival clothing clinging onto me.
I still refused to wear a tie, despite my mother's insistence.
"Come on, Dorian! It'll complete the look!" She moaned.
"No way, I'm not some nobleman, you're lucky I agreed to wear this at all."
She huffed angrily, "You're so stubborn sometimes."
"Thank you." I grin.
"That wasn't a- whatever." She huffs again and changes the topic, "So… who are you going with?"
I scoff, "No one."
She looks at me incredulously, "Really? But you never go to the festivals, why would you randomly go to this one if you don't have a date?"
I shrug, "Change in mood. Or perspective."
She laughs, "I thought you'd be going with Alice, to be honest."
I tense, "No, we're just friends. She's going with Arthur."
"Arthur?" She asks, "He's quite handsome."
"Mmm." I say tersely.
****
The bright, vibrant light envelops my vision yet again, the dark of night paling around the blaze of fire. But it was not the sunrise I was watching this time; it was the lanterns hung across the square.
Because I was bored.
There was dancing going on everywhere, and loud, blaring music had been droning on for at least an hour now with no respite. My ears hurt.
So, here I was, leaning against a wall, sipping my drink as I stared up at the lanterns. Boredom was not the only reason I was starting at the lanterns, as my gaze wanders unconsciously back to the dancing and laughing Alice, the content Alice, having fun. Without me. With Arthur.
I wrench my gaze back to the lanterns and sigh.
As I slowly drift into a semi-conscious state, I am rudely awakened by another girl as she walks over to me.
"Dorian!" She says.
My gaze snaps to her and she blushes, "Brooke?"
"Yeah, um, what are you doing?" She asks tentatively.
I shrug, "Nothing really."
"… Why?"
I look at her quizzically, "What do you mean?"
"I mean… why aren't you dancing with everyone else?"
"I don't feel like dancing." I say simply and sip my drink again.
"Why not? This is a festival after all, it's the main event."
I sigh, "Not a fan of the music." I say, unfortunately we had been eavesdropped on and perhaps the worst person to overhear what I had just said now interrupted the conversation.
Derek stepped into the conversation, "Did you just say you don't like the music?" He says loudly, and a few people look over. One of the band members also looks over and I wince.
"Well…"
"Seriously?" He pushes, "What's so bad about the music?"
"It's not bad… it's just not for my taste." I wince at my own words, I knew he could easily twist what I said.
"Not for you taste? You think you're so much better than us, huh?"
I sigh, "No, I don't." I reply, but he's hardly listening.
"If you're so much better, then show us how much better you are!" He gestures to the band, which had slowly fizzled out, the dancing had slowed too, and it seemed everyone was now paying attention, he had a gift for making himself the centre of attention.
"Seriously?" I ask.
He shrugs, "Since you're so much better."
"I never said that."
"You didn't have too."
I sigh, there were perhaps a few ways to get out of this, and the options were slowly narrowing, but one would always be open to me. And the rest required some skill in conversation, skill I didn't have. So I take this option, the option that I would end up taking eventually anyways.
"Alright…" I reluctantly push off the wall, and place my cup on a table as I walk over to the band, a flash of surprise passes over Derek's face but he masks it quickly, a sneer back on his face.
"What are you going to do? Dazzle us with your singing?" He laughs and quite a few people join him, enjoying his mockery of me.
I walk over to the band, who look less than friendly, I point at the guy with the guitar and ask, "Could I borrow that?"
He hands it over readily, wanting to see me make a fool of myself.
I sit in a stool and adjust the guitar in my grip, it wasn't an amazing guitar, but it would do the job. I strum the strings to test the malleability of them, then pluck each string individually to hear the tuning of each one. I adjust them slightly, and the guitar owner frowns and opens his voice to complain but the drummer slaps his arm and tells him to be quiet.
I look up, and it seemed everyone was paying attention to me now. I find Alice's face in the crowd, who looks concerned, and I lose my composure slightly, but then I notice Arthur's arm snaked around her waist, and anger clouds my vision, I quickly clear it away, instead condensing the gaseous clouds of anger into liquid courage.
I look down at the guitar again and take a deep breath. Then I start.
I pluck a string softly, and the note resounds, the quite stillness before the next note holds its own gravity. I pluck the next gently, my fingers move slowly, testing the strings, coaxing out quite notes as I trace the edges of a dream. The rhythm finds me, or maybe I find it, the world around me fading and my gaze growing distant. I ease into the song, like slipping into a memory.
My fingers glide, smooth and sure, each note flowing like water into the next, the melody swelling subtly and then rising passionately, forcing the music to a high that the guitar could hardly handle. I channel it through me, shaping it like clay, my fingers moving not just expertly; but emotionally and raw. Every slide, every pause is felt. Each note falling perfectly like raindrops in a still lake. My left hand dances across the fretboard with practiced ease, my right hand drawing out the soul of the guitar and moulding it into beautiful architecture.
The music swells, growing bolder, telling a story untold. The room could disappear, and I wouldn't notice, Alice could profess her love to me right now and I wouldn't bat an eye. I tilt my head unconsciously, as it if would let me hear the music better, my eyes close, every muscle in sync with the powerful flow of song. It's not just precision – it's emotion. The weight of each note pressing around the hearts of those who could hear it.
I hit my crescendo, my fingers moving in a blur, and yet not rushed. Controlled. Completely. Like fire dancing in a glass jar; the fire my passion, and my mastery the oxygen.
But in a glass jar, the oxygen is limited, and I slowly lull the song to its end, wrestling it down. A final gentle note rings out, soft and clear, a feather suspended in stillness. The closing of a book, heavy at the realisation that perfection had come with an ending.
My eyes open, everyone was silent now. Even Derek. I get up and hand the guitar to the guitarist. Then I walk to the fountain in the middle and gently pull the camellia out of my breast-pocket, it adorned my suit as other flowers adorned everyone else's.
Tradition said that the flower would be placed in the fountain once you were leaving the festival. Usually this would be a whole event where everyone would do it at the same time, but I did mine now. The camellia floating in the lightly disturbed water, its velvet colours flashing at me - it must be as it brings water to my eyes.
For my father. His favourite colour was always red.
And then I leave, I leave the festival. Its silence pronounced behind me.
Moments later, I'm home and mother greets me.
"Back already? It shouldn't be over yet."
I sigh, "I left early, wasn't that good."
She sighs as she rounds the corner, her red hair flashing, "Of course you did. You need to find enjoyment in these things, Dorian, otherwise you'll lead a life of misery."
I ignore her and move to walk past her.
She grabs my shoulder, "My child, listen to me for a moment."
I turn to her tentatively as she looks at me seriously.
"I know you want to succeed, to be strong and responsible, like…" She pauses, "Like your father. I see how hard you try, how much pressure you carry on your back like it's your duty. And society tells you it is, but it's not Dorian. Your duty is to enjoy yourself. If you don't let yourself have fun, then what are you building? What are you fighting for?
"Life without joy and laughter, without those moments that make your heart soar – that's not a life, it's a slow, quiet marching toward Death as she awaits you. You'll get older and realise you missed the truly important things, the silly nights, the dancing, the friends that make you laugh until your stomach hurts. Once it's gone, you can't get them back the same way.
"You don't have to choose between greatness and happiness. Chase your dreams – I know you don't talk about it but you can't fool me. I know you dream – everyone does. And daring to dream is not a disgrace, you think your father would scold you for it? Fighting for you dreams? That just isn't true, Dorian. He'd be scolding you for not enjoying your life. Life isn't a checklist, it's a journey, and if you don't stop to breathe and smile every now and then, you'll arrive at the end wondering where it all went."
I look at her in quiet shock, and she releases my shoulder.
"Now go to your room, it's already late despite you coming back early."
I silently head to my room, my mother's words resonating within me.
I likened it to my music, the final note bringing with it the end of the song. The ending was always sad, but was it satisfying? When I played, I made sure that when that final note hit, it would bring a deep happiness to everyone who heard it, and a profound sense of contentment.
How did I achieve this? By imbuing emotion and passion into the harmony, making it feel alive.
Did I feel alive? When was the last time I felt alive?
I didn't know.
****
I trudge up the hill, so early in the morning it was still dark. The dew on the long grass beneath my feet wetting my boots.
I look up the hill, and spot a figure laying there, her blonde hair spilling out on the grass.
I near her, and she looks up at me.
"Alice?"
She smiles at me, "Dorian. I got here early."
I look down at her, my eyes tracing her features, her full, soft lips curved upwards into a tantalizing smile, her little dimples, her full cheeks, her smooth skin. My eyes move to hers; they were staring back at me. Those green eyes, specked with yellow, bright and vibrant.
I smile back and lay down next to her.
We lay there as the dark sky pales slightly, and as the sun crests the horizon, I feel her hand brush against mine. And suddenly my fingers are intertwined with hers, her thumb tracing soft circles on the back of my hand, my thumb a mirror of hers.
This was my most beautiful melody, and I hoped the final note was never plucked.