Music. It's hypnotic, whether it be listening to repeated loops, verses of pop, variations of classical, cultural percussions, or the melodies one creates themselves.
If music aligns with the fantasy in one's mind, it is delightful for the listener. And if the music creates a fantasy of its own in one's mind, it is called a masterpiece.
There is no single theory of music. Even detuned notes sound beautiful when played by a professional. Music has no strict form. This is what Meloni believes and has always believed.
A young woman in her early twenties sat on the edge of the podium, her legs dangling in the air, in a silent and reverberating opera house. She wore an oversized graphite-black shirt over blue jeans and flip-flops, swinging her legs while her violet hair cascaded over the strings of her guitar. Her nails, wildberry colored, held a G minor chord as her lavender irises wandered over the children before her.
"You hit the notes perfectly, but you're not fluent... Rhythm, even without perfect notes, can sound much better than notes that might be correct but are not rhythmically timed."
Meloni is a musician. Though she never pursued a career of fame due to her social anxiety, she believes she can do well enough as a tutor.
"It just comes from within. Sometimes I think it's fine to hit the note, then I hold... and I end up breaking the flow. Sometimes I hit the second note too fast, and it messes up the whole rhythm from the start," said a young boy in his teens, a sheet of paper resting on one side of the armrest and a guitar settled on his thighs.
"Okay...I guess…matching tempo can be difficult. If you plan to do it all alone and you're not a professional, you're bound to mess it up. So, let's look for an easier way to time your rhythms," Meloni mused, tapping her nails on the guitar's body.
"You guys should practice using software. You need to understand the concept of loops first. Download any software; Logic, Ableton, FL Studio, whatever works for you. Try to create your own music, try to improve. The more you understand MIDI, loops, and variations, the repetition will help your brain follow the rhythms you want it to."
All five children in front of her nodded.
"Everything takes time. Take it easy. And make sure to practice the series I handed out to you. I'll check your progress when we meet next week."
Meloni stood up on the podium, picked up her guitar case, and glanced at the wristwatch on her right hand.
"She'll scold me again!" she muttered, stepping down the stairs and placing her guitar alongside the other instruments in the backstage room.
She checked her phone and grunted at the sight of number of missed calls from her aunt. Fetching her green hobo bag, she walked out of the stadium.
"Late again?" The guard scoffed, handing her ID back.
"Don't say it... She'll kill me." Meloni said, rushing toward the empty bicycle stand.
Wait... An empty bicycle stand?
"It was here! I locked it!" she muttered, slamming her palm against her forehead. She looked around, but the street was eerily deserted. With a frustrated groan, she turned on her heel and sprinted back to the guard, her flip-flops making a sharp pop with every hurried step.
The guard looked up from his chair, startled. "What happened?"
"My bike's missing!" she spat out.
"Ay-Ay-calm down, child!"
"Calm down?! That's my only way home!" Meloni snapped and looked around again.
The guard sighed, rubbing his chin. "Hmm. Are you sure you locked it properly?"
"Yes! I always do!" she insisted. "It was right there, I swear!"
He exhaled deeply, glancing toward the empty stand. "Well, these things happen. Maybe someone took it, or maybe you parked it somewhere else, it happens all the time."
Meloni shot him a sharp look.
"Do I look like someone who forgets where she parks?"
"Alright, alright," he chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. "Don't worry, we'll find it. But you should go home first because it's getting late. Call or reserve a taxi. It will only get harder if you run around trying to find your bike. The sun has already set."
"I can't just leave it like that!!!! My aunt will really, fu--ing lose it if she finds out!"
With another sigh, the guard looked at his watch. "Look, I'll watch if you want me to. I'll notify you if someone returns with a bike that resembles yours. But really, it's not safe to be by yourself in the evening, so don't stay out too long."
Meloni groaned, pulling out her phone. "Fine, but if you see anything, call me right away."
"Aight-Aight!" The guard nodded. "Now get going-"
Meloni walked out of the gates and checked her bank wallet, almost empty. She glanced to her right. A straight ten-minute walk down the silent road would take her to the bustling city.
"Damn it!" she muttered. The opera house wasn't far from the city, it was just in a secluded district.
She fetched her earbuds, walking along the edge of the road while scrolling through social media.
"Hm?" Meloni stopped, eyes catching the blood smeared across the road, dragged toward the bushes. Black feathers were scattered on the ground.
She closed her eyes and took out her earbuds.
The world became quiet. Not even the distant city's faint hum.
Then her eyes opened, faintly illuminating violet.
She moved, her eyes focusing on the blood trail.
Pushing forward, she used her bag to spread the branches.
A bird was lying in the tangled grass. A black falcon, barely breathing and covered in blood
She whispered, "Black Peregrine?" "Aren't you the rarest of the rare?"
She knelt down and caressed the little bird.
She carefully wrapped a woolen handkerchief around the falcon after zipping it out.
"I wanted to save some money." She let out a sigh and took out her phone to call for a cab.