The lightning flashed, illuminating her pale hands on the keyboard. Eyes closed, she gently swayed back and forth as she played the Beethoven sonata. The somber notes and the pounding rain on the roof a symphony of melancholy. Then he was there, in the darkness, beside her on the piano bench. He twirled a piece of her hair around his fingers, nuzzled her neck. Eyes still closed, she smiled and played on, both of them swaying in time now.
“Moonlight Sonata–my favorite,” he whispered, his breath warm on her neck.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I know.”
He brushed his lips gently down to her bare shoulder. With every angel kiss and caress her breath quickened and her hands slowed.
“Please, don’t stop,” he begged. She found the rhythm again, the flow of the left hand, the accents of the right, playing it perfectly–for him. He stroked her arm, his touch as gentle as the breeze blowing the trees outside the window. Her eyes closed tighter now as the sonata reached its pinnacle of sadness and loss.
“So beautiful,” he murmured into her ear. ” I want to take you there.”
“Where?” the question barely audible above the deluge outside.
“To the moon, love. We’d bathe in moonbeams beside the Sea of Tranquility. Alone. Forever.”
Tranquility–Calm, quiet, serene. With him. She sighed.
The sonata was coming to an end now. Darker. Slower. Intense. She was no longer swaying. No longer smiling. Her eyes squeezed tight and her mouth contorting with every troubled note. No more kisses on her shoulder, no more twirling of her hair. A thought dancing on the edge of her mind as she continued to play. The accented notes like knives to her heart. Slow and painful jabs, at first quiet and then steadily growing louder, threatening to break open her chest.
Not wanting to finish the piece, but every note bringing her closer to the end.
“Please, don’t stop,” he begged again, his voice faint and far away, nearly lost in the pounding rain.
“But it’s the end,” she breathed. Her hands continued on to the inevitable conclusion. “Take me with you. Take me to the moon,” she begged.
Two final heartbreaking chords rang in the empty room. A gust of wind blew the rain through the open window. The lightning flashed, illuminating her pale shoulders slumped over the keyboard. Eyes closed, her body shook, as the rain beat down and the thunder rolled.
On Monday, Angela reminded us all: “… own your words, embrace your strengths, and believe in your writing.”
I gave you have 500 words to write a piece, fiction or non-fiction, which includes the phrase “to the moon.”
This was inspired by one of my favorite pieces of music, Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata.” At the suggestion of someone on YouTube, I listened to “Moonlight Sonata” and “Rainy Mood” at the same time. It really is a lovely combination and it made me want to try something different. I’ve never written anything remotely like this before, so be kind.