Heat emanated from the powerful stage lights above our orchestra, diffusing into the air and calling upon the hazy, surreal atmosphere reminiscent of a languorous evening by a fireplace. Fierce white light blinded me to anything beyond the limits of the stage, casting the audience in a dark, harmless blur. Cued by the flick of a baton, we the orchestra lifted our bows and gently set them upon our strings, moving with the easy synchronicity of a wave sighing onto shore. My universe narrowed to this singularity of tense anticipation, and to those who would breathe the piece into existence. And so the movement began.
The warmed air surrounding us turned into a medium of connectivity, an ether aligning the tempos of our heartbeats and the dynamics of our breath. Music flowed through us and washed our minds clear of all else, setting the stresses of reality free upon wings of song. Inchoate filaments of sound, drawn out softly but barreling towards an inevitable crescendo, vibrated through every ossicle and cochlea to synchronize the firing of our synapses into a cohesive whole. Bringing to life the myriad of ink-black notes upon pages of white storybook had never felt so easy.
Isabella Murray is a young writer from the Bay Area, California. She has a penchant for speculative fiction and a propensity for using science to inform her creativity.
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