BEETHOVEN.
By Sarah Beth
There was a young maiden in the city of York, whose fingers could race up and down a violins fingerboard faster than the speed of light. People would come from miles around just to hear her coax beautiful strains of music from her violin. One day, a young man from a nearby town came to York to see his betrothed when he stumbled upon the violinist. The young man was amazed by her great skill and precision. He was so impressed that he brought his betrothed to listen to the maiden’s music. The man’s betrothed was intrigued for a moment but her amazement was short lived. Her fiancé was hypnotized by not only her talent, but her unsurpassable beauty. The betrothed was so infuriated by this that she went on a search to find a piece of music so intricate that the maiden would never succeed in playing a single note correctly. The evil broad now had a task that had to be completed so she ran off through the town square, to find herself a composer. As soon as the mans fiancé was ptu of earshot, he introduced himself.
“I am Vincent the third of Hemingway. I must say, I am most impressed by your skill with such a fair instrument. I’ve been listening for hours upon hours and yet you havent played a piece that's beauty surpassed your own...might i be so bold to ask your name?"
There was a young maiden in the city of York, whose fingers could race up and down a violins fingerboard faster than the speed of light. People would come from miles around just to hear her coax beautiful strains of music from her violin. One day, a young man from a nearby town came to York to see his betrothed when he stumbled upon the violinist. The young man was amazed by her great skill and precision. He was so impressed that he brought his betrothed to listen to the maiden’s music. The man’s betrothed was intrigued for a moment but her amazement was short lived. Her fiancé was hypnotized by not only her talent, but her unsurpassable beauty. The betrothed was so infuriated by this that she went on a search to find a piece of music so intricate that the maiden would never succeed in playing a single note correctly. The evil broad now had a task that had to be completed so she ran off through the town square, to find herself a composer. As soon as the mans fiancé was ptu of earshot, he introduced himself.
“I am Vincent the third of Hemingway. I must say, I am most impressed by your skill with such a fair instrument. I’ve been listening for hours upon hours and yet you havent played a piece that's beauty surpassed your own...might i be so bold to ask your name?"
Oct. 10th
In the graveyard, even in the twilight, I could see the occasional mausoleum sticking up on the horizon. Two voices-- one gravelly and husky, the other a tinkling soprano-- erupted through the night.
“How do we keep it a secret? You know, about what killed him? What’ll we tell his wife? That he stabbed himself? What Maddox? What?!” The high voice spoke first, her voice creeping with hysteria.
“No, we tell her he died of cardiac arrest, or had a freak incident with a tree shredder. Get some self-control” The low voice was low and rough. He laughed. The sound was that of a smoker, it was a wheeze and cough while holding the trace of humor.
“But—but—Mallory is a good woman, I can’t lie to her in such a way. I—I just can’t—wait, no. I just WON’T.”
The bush I was hiding behind rustled and they turned toward me, the flashlight the woman held shone on me. I read the grave beside me: Catharine Dixon; grabbed my bag and scrambled for my light stone. I made myself cry and stood, grabbing an empty vodka bottle I never would have touched if I had another option for escape and I stumbled out of the shrubbery like a drunk.
“Oh my gosh, Catharine, Why’d you have to leave!?!” I forced myself to stumble over my words as dad had the nights he had come home, hundreds of miles from sober. “Oh, um, who are you? I thought I was alone.”
“No little girl. you were never alone. We were he—” Maddox grumbled. I turned to the bush, bent over, stuck my hand down my throat and vomited.
“Oh no, NO. Maddox, what do we do?! She’s obviously drinking under age, oh, I know” she inhaled. “Where do you need to go? Where are you going now?”
“Ummm—nineteen thirteen Oakley road” I slurred my words with no real intention of doing so.
I stumbled along the path behind the woman.
“Hey, honey, what were you doing out here?” the woman asked me sweetly.
“Catharine was my best friend and she’s gone. She’s gone.” My eyes burned with tears of unknown origin.
“She was seventy four. And she was your best friend?” her face was questioning but soft.
“Yeah, she was my grandma’s sister. Gram died and I got Catharine.” Somehow there was complete truth in my words, yet I didn’t know her.
By the time I finished I was at the address I had provided. I checked my pockets and searched in my bag.
“Oh my god. I’m locked out.” I glanced behind me to my two escorts, Maddox stepped forward leaned down to my level, Chuckled, and reached under the welcome mat and handed me a key. He wasn’t really tall, but he was big. He scared the crud out of me. I reached forward to the knob and my hand shook. It took me three tries before I unlocked the door and stepped in praying that there would be a table and basket on the left side of the hall, and a coat closet on the right and a bathroom on the left just beyond the table. I flipped on the lights and saw that my prayers were answered. Everything was how I prayed, the hall with the table and bathroom and closet, the walls were my favorite shade of green and the doors were my favorite tone of grey. I turned and thanked them and invited them in to have a drink, but they politely declined, in return I thanked them until my tongue was dry. After they left, I closed the door and locked the deadbolt. I turned around, leaning on the door for support. The walls changed color, from vibrant green to dull red, the space that matched my imagination deteriorated, and the room became dark and rough edged. I HAD CREATED THAT ROOM. My mind whirled, a blur of color flashed behind my eyes but I saw it, my legs were unsteady and I began to fall.
“How do we keep it a secret? You know, about what killed him? What’ll we tell his wife? That he stabbed himself? What Maddox? What?!” The high voice spoke first, her voice creeping with hysteria.
“No, we tell her he died of cardiac arrest, or had a freak incident with a tree shredder. Get some self-control” The low voice was low and rough. He laughed. The sound was that of a smoker, it was a wheeze and cough while holding the trace of humor.
“But—but—Mallory is a good woman, I can’t lie to her in such a way. I—I just can’t—wait, no. I just WON’T.”
The bush I was hiding behind rustled and they turned toward me, the flashlight the woman held shone on me. I read the grave beside me: Catharine Dixon; grabbed my bag and scrambled for my light stone. I made myself cry and stood, grabbing an empty vodka bottle I never would have touched if I had another option for escape and I stumbled out of the shrubbery like a drunk.
“Oh my gosh, Catharine, Why’d you have to leave!?!” I forced myself to stumble over my words as dad had the nights he had come home, hundreds of miles from sober. “Oh, um, who are you? I thought I was alone.”
“No little girl. you were never alone. We were he—” Maddox grumbled. I turned to the bush, bent over, stuck my hand down my throat and vomited.
“Oh no, NO. Maddox, what do we do?! She’s obviously drinking under age, oh, I know” she inhaled. “Where do you need to go? Where are you going now?”
“Ummm—nineteen thirteen Oakley road” I slurred my words with no real intention of doing so.
I stumbled along the path behind the woman.
“Hey, honey, what were you doing out here?” the woman asked me sweetly.
“Catharine was my best friend and she’s gone. She’s gone.” My eyes burned with tears of unknown origin.
“She was seventy four. And she was your best friend?” her face was questioning but soft.
“Yeah, she was my grandma’s sister. Gram died and I got Catharine.” Somehow there was complete truth in my words, yet I didn’t know her.
By the time I finished I was at the address I had provided. I checked my pockets and searched in my bag.
“Oh my god. I’m locked out.” I glanced behind me to my two escorts, Maddox stepped forward leaned down to my level, Chuckled, and reached under the welcome mat and handed me a key. He wasn’t really tall, but he was big. He scared the crud out of me. I reached forward to the knob and my hand shook. It took me three tries before I unlocked the door and stepped in praying that there would be a table and basket on the left side of the hall, and a coat closet on the right and a bathroom on the left just beyond the table. I flipped on the lights and saw that my prayers were answered. Everything was how I prayed, the hall with the table and bathroom and closet, the walls were my favorite shade of green and the doors were my favorite tone of grey. I turned and thanked them and invited them in to have a drink, but they politely declined, in return I thanked them until my tongue was dry. After they left, I closed the door and locked the deadbolt. I turned around, leaning on the door for support. The walls changed color, from vibrant green to dull red, the space that matched my imagination deteriorated, and the room became dark and rough edged. I HAD CREATED THAT ROOM. My mind whirled, a blur of color flashed behind my eyes but I saw it, my legs were unsteady and I began to fall.
Anna Leigh's Crow
By Sarah Beth
Anna Leigh was alone; shamed, desolate and utterly alone. Her body, once young and spry, is now frail and worn by the years of watching the moon rise up over the world and dreaming of her strong young soldier. When she was sixteen she was swept away by a young enlisted man. Noah was his name, and he was passing through Anna Leigh’s town on his way to Charleston, where he was to be shipped out from. Though they had only just met, they were falling, drifting, crashing in love. His charm and his wit enthralled her and made her heart flutter in her chest. They used to laugh and play in the wide open fields of her hometown, never thinking about why he was there. When they were together the sun shone brighter and the birdsong was sweeter: until the day he had to leave town.
They had embraced one more time, and he gave her promises of letters and the occasional phone call. For Anna Leigh, that would have been enough while he was gone. She promised him she would wait for his return, and Noah promised her a big white wedding when he came back. Always the romantic, Noah told her that the bluebirds and the sparrows would sing to her when he was gone, reminding her how his love could be heard over oceans. Anna Leigh had smiled at this. He loved her, he wanted her forever. He was going to come back for her. They kissed and parted. Both reluctant to say goodbye to their summer love.
For months they stayed in contact, professing their love to the world and each other. And then Noah stopped writing. Anna Leigh cried, convinced he didn’t love her anymore. Depressed, desolate, somber, and alone she cried all day. Until one night, a crow came to Anna. It sat on the edge of her desk as she read Noah’s old letters, reminiscing and dreaming of a life with her beloved Noah. Through all of the years that Anna Leigh cried, dreaming of her young strong soldier, the crow never flew the coup, always staying beside her the crow never left, it stayed, nuzzled against Anna Leigh’s cheek, staying by her side forever. Even as Anna got old, the crow was still there, wishing away her tears and sorrows, trying to comfort her. Anna Leigh came to love that bird, adoring it in every way, loving its company, but there was very little that could ever relieve her of her grief. One night Anna Leigh passed, slipping out of a life filled with misery and sparse flashes of happiness, and in into a place of light and ever lasting joy. The crow let out a final squawk and drifted out Anna Leigh’s window, to sit in the tree beside her window, silent and dormant forever, heart broken and lost without his anna Leigh.
The faithful crow was Anna Leigh’s Noah. He had come back to her, and Anna Leigh never knew.
They had embraced one more time, and he gave her promises of letters and the occasional phone call. For Anna Leigh, that would have been enough while he was gone. She promised him she would wait for his return, and Noah promised her a big white wedding when he came back. Always the romantic, Noah told her that the bluebirds and the sparrows would sing to her when he was gone, reminding her how his love could be heard over oceans. Anna Leigh had smiled at this. He loved her, he wanted her forever. He was going to come back for her. They kissed and parted. Both reluctant to say goodbye to their summer love.
For months they stayed in contact, professing their love to the world and each other. And then Noah stopped writing. Anna Leigh cried, convinced he didn’t love her anymore. Depressed, desolate, somber, and alone she cried all day. Until one night, a crow came to Anna. It sat on the edge of her desk as she read Noah’s old letters, reminiscing and dreaming of a life with her beloved Noah. Through all of the years that Anna Leigh cried, dreaming of her young strong soldier, the crow never flew the coup, always staying beside her the crow never left, it stayed, nuzzled against Anna Leigh’s cheek, staying by her side forever. Even as Anna got old, the crow was still there, wishing away her tears and sorrows, trying to comfort her. Anna Leigh came to love that bird, adoring it in every way, loving its company, but there was very little that could ever relieve her of her grief. One night Anna Leigh passed, slipping out of a life filled with misery and sparse flashes of happiness, and in into a place of light and ever lasting joy. The crow let out a final squawk and drifted out Anna Leigh’s window, to sit in the tree beside her window, silent and dormant forever, heart broken and lost without his anna Leigh.
The faithful crow was Anna Leigh’s Noah. He had come back to her, and Anna Leigh never knew.