What A Dream Wants

Opulence without debauchery and spaciousness without emptiness is magical realism without its contradiction. Which brings up a good point. What makes magical realism special? Realism or magic? It only takes one step to cross the line, but a couple more to move and stay on it. And the auditorium bordered on that line, taking a couple more steps with colossal feet balancing on a thin wire beam.

If giants wanted to peer through, they could. They would see the grand, stained windows and the warm, dainty, scattering light. They would see the fairies of photons tinkering down like flickering motes dancing in the air. They would see the sculpted stairs leading up to the stage, oak brown and tinted with a touch of age. They would see grand banisters decorating the second floor, more than two stories high, and chandeliers, pillars, and more. But to them, it would be a leveled sidewalk. If they could walk close to the stage, the pits would reveal the chairs and scores of the orc.h.e.s.tra, who played with hooks, snares, and flairs. For them, it would be nothing but the buzzing of a hummingbird.

It was a thin line. Despite the behemoth doors and the oak wood of an ancient world, it still holds true to its cliche. It was a modern retelling of the same ol' fairytale.

But with the grand red curtains in suspension, all was forgotten in gasps and scurries. Showing the show had yet to start and the people had yet to take part.

Steven plopped down on a random seat. It was soft and very good for plopping.

Two women sat on the edge of the stage, accentuated by the natural light.

"Hello," The women waved. Her voice was warm and kind. "I'm a music teacher! My name is Mrs. Muse!" She was past her prime, and though she didn't have the same allure, time couldn't hide what was once a reveled beauty.

"Hi," The other voiced mellowly, "I'm the vocal teacher, My name is Mrs. Song." Her words had a musical quality to them, charming and elegant.

"This is the auditorium. I teach music history and instruct students on playing an instrument. Mrs. Song teaches Korean, along with being a vocal teacher. It's a p.l.e.a.s.u.r.e to meet all of you. So usually, I teach two classes at a time, but today's a bit special. Since it's the first day meeting you all, I'll let some of my seniors play you a few songs!" She smiled warmly and clasped her hands.

The curtains opened, pulling away to reveal the chorus on top of the stage. All dressed and dr.a.p.ed in attires which were... pretty casual, actually.

Mrs. Muse waved her hand.

The first violinist started the piece.

Slow and steady, then quickening, it was composed of warm tones. It sounded like an ode to a loved one.

In the second verse, a note was changed. The slight structural deviation created a despondent vibe, amidst the buoyant tune.

The sound of music rang through the halls. The melody was sweet, yet melancholy, and the story it told was a bittersweet tale. The harmony, and also the contrast of the different instruments, painted a wonderful symphony where the world seemed warm, even if blossoming only for a few moments, and then dissipating.

The music was recounting memories of everlasting love. It was a requiem for a loved one.

As the music reached a ritenuto, the music slowed down.

Then, a male singer joined in. The language that he sang in, seemed ancient, powerful, but also filled with restraint. It was a language from far ago- Latin.

The female singer joined in, their distinctive pitches creating a beautiful duet.

Accellerato, the music grew more anxious and fast-paced, becoming a crescendo, torrents of notes gradually growing louder and louder.

Caesura. The music stopped.

Now, only the viola played. Deep, and sorrowful, a contrast to the violin's high pitches. The male singer started singing again, this time alone.

It was a dirge—an elegy for her.

The song stopped.

. . .

The audience clapped, vigorously. Some members of the audience even had tears in their eyes, the music evoking many emotions in them.

Steven also had tears in his eyes, who wouldn't... after waking up from a good nap. He yawned, still a bit sleepy.

"Now, of course, these are some of the official orc.h.e.s.tra and chorus members. They had years of practice and dedicated many hours of hard work to become this skilled at their craft. With hard work, most of you guys can reach their level." Mrs. Muse gushed excitedly.

"Mrs. Muse, excuse me. Can I say something?" Mrs. Song asked.

"Yeah, sure. Go ahead."

Mrs. Song looked at the audience. Her beauty enchanted everyone and then she opened her mouth.

"Sadly, even with hard work, without the correct voice, not everyone can become talented. I applaud hard work, but there are things in life you can't force. You can't force a blind person to see colors." She murmured a bit wistfully.

The dispirited freshmen became quiet.

"However, even if I can't make you the best singer, I can guarantee that you're not just limited to singing. Everyone has their different talents, and spending too much time pursuing one thing can come back to haunt you. There's a difference between giving up when there's a chance, and giving up when there is none."

Silence.

"And even, if you have talent, you live in a world where some people objectify others and appreciate them solely based on their aesthetic and appearance. You might find it hard to succeed. And... even if you do, you'll see your work rise up only for others to take credit. Not to mention-"

"Alright! Mrs. Song," Mrs. Muse sang out and pulled her into a shoulder hug. "Anyways, with the official music classes that you have, we also have special advanced classes. Today, after school, we have auditions for the official orc.h.e.s.tra and chorus, hope you can make it."

The bell rang, except this time, it felt much more downcast. Like it was raining, except no tears would come out. Steven yawned again, bringing more clouds and tears to his eyes.