Post by ryan on May 5, 2010 20:06:03 GMT -5
It was late, but Ryan couldn't sleep. In his attempts, he kept tossing and turning.The night air was cold. Far colder than Ryan liked. This never happened back home. she thought to himself as he stared at the ceiling. Texas never got cold. Chilly, yes; windy, of course, but never cold. Not even during that big freeze this past winter. Now he shivered alone in the darkness of the dorm surrounded by his sleeping friends, who were less than unnerved by the night air.
Ryan couldn't stand it any more - the chill or the uncanny silence. Air was meant for music, not snoring or chatter or snow flurries or absolute quiet. It was meant to fly across the face while you carried yourself into a wind of your own creation. Through the blackness, Ryan reached for his guitar, but then set it back in it's place. If he took his guitar, his closest tie to humanity, Ryan knew he couldn't possibly hope of going back to sleep before the dawn came. Anxious to solve at least one of his two problems at hand, he felt his way through the room to the door and slipped outside. There was only one place where a fire could be lit on a night like this. He lightly raced towards the common room. Once there, he slammed the door closed behind him and jumped a little at the loudness of his actions. Ryan rushed over to the fireplace and quickly went to lighting a fire. Once a few small flames crept up and began to warm his icy hands, Ryan looked around the room. He had been here just a time or two before, but it had been filled with crowds of carefree students. Now it was just a dark space of silence. It was odd to see the room so empty - shadows lurking everywhere. They seemed to chase after Ryan in the edges of his vision. In the corner of the room, he saw a large, graceful piano. It seemed to call him. A beacon of light in this endless darkness. Pulling out and sitting on the bench before it, Ryan couldn't help thinking of the day he left his home to come here. On the plane he jotted down a tune. No words, just notes in patterns. Now he lightly hummed the first few bars before he allowed his hands to fly across the piano. As he played, the more and more he realized that this song deserved words. A lyric to share with its creation. He was no writer, and certainly no singer. Pencil in hand, he plopped his head down onto the piano and tried to think of a place to begin. He was still thinking when he heard the door open.