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Post by STEPHEN JAMES ADAMS on Dec 27, 2012 22:42:34 GMT -5
Stephen loved the Art Complex. It had one of his favorite places on campus: music rooms. It had rooms where you could go and just play your music and no one would mind. And if they did? Too bad! 'Cause they would just have to deal with it. Stephen loved music. His grandparents had been paying for lessons for as long as he could remember. He still took lessons, but they weren't as often and the lessons were more about toning his technique and work now then actually learning how to play like when he first began.
Today, Stephen was working on tweaking the first piece in his oratorio he was hoping to finish by the end of senior year. He walked to the art complex and went right inside; it was almost like a second or third home to him by now. He knew most of the kids who usually worked in the complex. While he wasn't necessarily friends with them all, he usually at least acknowledged them enough to say hello. Art, like music, was different to every person, and Stephen was a strong believer in "to each his own." While he preferred a mixture of classical music and folk music, he knew others like modern pop or country; to each his own.
Stephen went to the nearest practice room with a grand piano. It wasn't completely sound proof; none of the rooms were. But it did its best to at least muffle the sound to others trying to practice their own music. Stephen slowly sat down at the bench, set his music on the little stand and thought a moment before beginning. He wanted his piece to give people a new sense of feeling, of purpose. He started the first piece of the oratorio with a slow, trickling, sort of beginning. He thought perhaps the piccolos or bells or chimes; he wasn't entirely sure. For now, though, he was simply using a piano to get the basics down. He took a deep breathe, and began...
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