A Requiem For The Fallen Fiddler

I laid down in the dusty room, slowly slipping into oblivion as time passed by.

My master used to caress me tenderly—handling me as if I'm the most precious thing in this world. But now I lay forgotten in this dark, dusty room, reminiscing about the memories of the last notes he played on me.

Notes that speak his soul, notes that signify the importance of my existence, notes that cease to exist the moment he lost his breath.

I still reminisce about the time he played me with great passion—passion that no one had appreciated.

Perhaps he's in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and with the wrong people. His parents, who were supposed to support him, were the first ones who doubted the beauty of his passion.

"Ciel, son, you should consider taking up more practical hobbies. Hobbies that will ensure your future. For example, you can study law or medicine or something that you—

"Pardon me, mother, but I can't devote myself to something I have no interest in. My passion is in the music I make. Doing something that I don't love won't get me anywhere—it may fill my stomach, but it would slowly kill my soul. A man without a soul is like existing without a purpose...", he calmly reasoned out as he wipes me with great care.

His mother frowned as if she heard something that was utterly abrasive. She pursed her lips and touched my master's cheek. My master stopped wiping, then he put me down on the table.

"Passion? Would that passion of yours would get you somewhere? Listen, son—there are a lot of people like you who were foolish enough to chase on their so-called passion, but did you know what happened to them? Do you think that those successful ones relied only on the passion they had? Son, please don't end up like your ruined uncle," she said while caressing my master's face tenderly. He gazed at her mother with a look full of uncertainty.

"B-but mother, have you not heard the way I play? I'm constantly improving, and I think it would be just a matter of time that everyone will app—"

"Son, you're merely dreaming! Wake up! You're passion will get you nowhere... It's been years since you started studying music, but until now you're merely copying the style of those successful fiddlers!", her mother cried out in desperation.

Shocked, he stared at his mother as if she had struck him, then a look of realization washed over his face.

"Son, don't take this against me... I'm merely concerned about your future. I want you to have a life that will give you happiness—a life with assurance. Chasing that passion of yours is like chasing wind. It's futile, son, so please redirect your passion into something that would secure your future..."

Happiness... My master's parents didn't know his true happiness.

My master looked down and slowly nodded. His mother smiled at him, and from that moment started his silent suffering.

He tried everything to impress his family. He tried to love what they love him to do. He kept me away, but in the nights where he felt lonely, he touched my strings. Longing was evident in his face, and I can't bear to see his expression slowly morphing into something that I don't know.

_Source

Like a rust corroding his soul, that decision gradually changed him. I watched him turn like an empty husk—wan of happiness. But still, I hope he'll come back to me because, after all, he is my master.

However, his late-night visits suddenly came to a halt, and then one day I heard a horrible news from the gossiping maids.

"Poor boy, I didn't know he'd end up that way! If only they hadn't forced him to do something that he couldn't do, he would have been still playing those beautiful pieces he used to play before."

"Shush Rosanna, don't raise your voice because if Madam will hear us, we'll surely be punished!", an older voice chided.

"Am I wrong? They knew his heart was fragile, but still he forced him into something that his heart couldn't bear... It's just so heartbreaking... Young master was so kind to me—I mean to us. How can they be so cruel to him? They're such a—"

A slapping noise interrupted the girl. Shrill screams echoed throughout the house as the hysterical mother thrashed. Sounds of shattered glass and porcelain followed as the thrashing noises continued.

"You—you don't have a right to talk about my son! How dare you accuse me? How dare—"

Her voice died down. Worried voices were then heard, and later on shuffling noise reigned. Then later came silence.

Silence that I badly wanted to dispel with my mournful cries. But alas! I'm worthless without his skillful hands.

They never understood the depth of my master's agony. No one but me alone. Every time he plucked my strings, his despair resonated in me, and thus I cried his soul out. However, no matter how hard I cried out, no one noticed him.

They're all too deaf to hear it. Or they simply don't want to.

I lay here in the dark, waiting for Apollo to extinguish this consciousness of mine. Like my master, I want to depart from this world devoid of music.

And so I plead to him, "Apollo, Apollo! I beseech you! Please hear my plea... Before you extinguish my existence in this world, I beg you to let my consciousness seep on a man's body so that I can play a requiem for my beloved master. Let me express my soul out before you douse my existence."

He nodded slowly, and with that, I abruptly found myself in a man's body while clutching my small frame. I placed my frame on the man's shoulder and held it with his chin. I gently plucked my strings as if being drawn into a state of daydream. I closed the man's eyes and just listened as I began to strum and plucked my strings. It started deliberately, and later on I plunged into a frenzy of emotions I wanted to express to him. I know words can't reach him, but I hope he will listen to my requiem.