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- Joined
- Dec 11, 2012
A deep, sorrowful hum vibrating down long hallways, tantalizing the sensations of any who could hear. The pitch of each note trembling as bow gently, lovingly rubbed against stretched strings. Control. Patience. Understanding. Each emotions was conveyed by skilled fingers rising and falling, pinching and releasing those same, vibrating threads with distinct skill and deliberate action. The cello, not entirely popular among many youth, largely due to its cost, but money was no option in this place. Another draw of the bow and the deep note sweetened as it rose to the gates of heaven, a note almost sensual and intimate before sinking once more to plumb the depths of humanity. Our awareness of pain and suffering. No words were needed, any who heard the sweet notes could not mistake the intent or the feelings of the musician. Yet, this was merely another routine in the life of a young man being brought up in a life of luxury. His mother demanded he learn the classical arts to insure his refined palette in a world of auto-tuning, rap music, and that chattering music of the "help." Thus, he practiced the enormous instrument, every day, sometimes multiple times a day, and honestly, it became his refuge from her constant nagging.
Eyes closed. Nothing else mattered except for the dance of his arms and fingers, the vibrations rumbling through his body, he could forget for a moment. Forget? Why would anyone want to forget being rich being their wildest dreams? Is that not the dream everyone aspires for? It wasn't his money, but his mother's, at least for now. When he turned 18, every cent would be given to him. So, the woman did anything she could to keep him under thumb and in her control. Ashamed to tell his male friends, but it was a lot like being a princess in a tower, all the power of royalty, but denied freedom. A trophy locked in a windowed armoire.
"Beautiful."
Sighing, eyes slowly opened again. Orbs of rich, vibrant powder blue quickly remembered where he was at the sight of his mother who stood at his doorway, her face smiling, but it was a facade. Her eyes were dead. All she cared about was the fact that he was in his room, staying out of trouble and getting involved with all those young trollops out in the world that might threaten her reputation or wealth. No. No one would come between her and that mountain of cash.
"Daniel, you're music has become angelic. Perhaps we should arrange a party where we can display such a transcendent skill for our friends," chirped his mother, but really, all she wanted was to show other's how refined she was. Image was everything. Nothing like when he was a child. Before she had married his most recent dad and wound up in high society. No one had been fooled when she came home to their little trailer park with a man very much her senior. Love sees no age. We are soul mates. She spouted off such excuses with the rehearsed quality of a night at theatre. They were empty, hollow. It stung everyone who hadn't been his father. A kind, compassionate man who gave generously and whose only fault in life had been falling in love with his mother. No one said it out loud, but the gaze of the upper class friends spoke volumes, She was likely a stripper who got his little chubby to rise to the occasion. So what if she did, why does it matter if two people came together in a sexual night of tension or passion, they found love. Well, at least he did.
Then he died.
Daniel looked to his mom, lips drawn down in a somber expression before looking out an enormous window that stretched nearly from the floor to the upward jutting, vaulted ceiling. "You do miss him, don't you?" asked Daniel, a lump in his throat because he knew what she would say. Of course I miss him, he was my husband. Then the conversation would end and she would leave the room, only the harsh, unforgiving clack of her heels against the marble floor echoing back through the halls. Sometimes, that droning symphony was joined with her aggravated shouting at the help.
With a firm grip, he delicately placed the enormous string instrument on its stand and approached the window. Beams of gold pierced the dimly lit room and spilled out across the floor before slowly climbing up his body as he meandered into them; shimmering on his waxed, fitted, dress shoes before climbing further up his dress pants. Only the best material was used. He hated how good they felt, soft, free flowing around his legs while also pristine and free of wrinkle. It made him ashamed at times, guilty. As a child, he was happy to run around his house in his Spiderman pajamas. How ludicrous that would have been had he been born into this...at least with his mother. Each step towards the vast, glass panes drew the illumination up his body exposing his hands and tickling the bottom of his vest. A fine gray color, clinging to his lean, muscular form that showed to all that his mother's son hadn't let himself go despite their wealth. It was about time for exercise with his personal trainer, another stipulation of his mother's, he had to be perfect. He sometimes questioned if his mother had done something that even influenced the enormous shadow running down his inner thigh and unnatural large shadows under his ass. Still, as the light finally reached his face, he gazed out over the vast land being landscaped almost daily. A hand rose, slipping through the light brown locks of his silky, pristine hair. Soft, thick lips parted as he let out a sigh. No white people. Not even black people rode those lawn mowers. His mother had a specific taste of peoples she wanted to work for her, those she could pay next to nothing, and be cruel to, but could offer little in retort. Mexicans, largely illegals. The police never came here, nor immigration. Her own playground to make others feel as bad as she did inside.
"I wonder who will be cleaning house today?" mused Daniel, his mother always made sure she only hired older Mexican women, not too old to work, but not certainly not single teenagers who might corrupt her son. Always married mothers, and Catholic, devout. She wanted to be sure no temptation would enter their mind when she left to enjoy a day at the spa.
Turning away from the window, he made his way down the hall. Age did little, he still saw the looks of the women, despite being 16, and they would smile so kindly until they noticed. Hola Senior Daniel... then their voice trailed off a little as he saw their eyes go a little wide at the sight, a blush burning under their smooth off white, to mulatto skin. Not much else was said as they busied themselves. It wasn't necessarily attraction, some of them surely thought he was walking around with a salami in his pants, others joked quietly, feeling sorry for any woman who had to try and fit that thing. It didn't matter, he just appreciated the genuine smile they offered him before noticing.
"Bull shit. I am going back to bed," grumbled Daniel as he made his way to his room. The day had barely begun and he was already tired of it.
Eyes closed. Nothing else mattered except for the dance of his arms and fingers, the vibrations rumbling through his body, he could forget for a moment. Forget? Why would anyone want to forget being rich being their wildest dreams? Is that not the dream everyone aspires for? It wasn't his money, but his mother's, at least for now. When he turned 18, every cent would be given to him. So, the woman did anything she could to keep him under thumb and in her control. Ashamed to tell his male friends, but it was a lot like being a princess in a tower, all the power of royalty, but denied freedom. A trophy locked in a windowed armoire.
"Beautiful."
Sighing, eyes slowly opened again. Orbs of rich, vibrant powder blue quickly remembered where he was at the sight of his mother who stood at his doorway, her face smiling, but it was a facade. Her eyes were dead. All she cared about was the fact that he was in his room, staying out of trouble and getting involved with all those young trollops out in the world that might threaten her reputation or wealth. No. No one would come between her and that mountain of cash.
"Daniel, you're music has become angelic. Perhaps we should arrange a party where we can display such a transcendent skill for our friends," chirped his mother, but really, all she wanted was to show other's how refined she was. Image was everything. Nothing like when he was a child. Before she had married his most recent dad and wound up in high society. No one had been fooled when she came home to their little trailer park with a man very much her senior. Love sees no age. We are soul mates. She spouted off such excuses with the rehearsed quality of a night at theatre. They were empty, hollow. It stung everyone who hadn't been his father. A kind, compassionate man who gave generously and whose only fault in life had been falling in love with his mother. No one said it out loud, but the gaze of the upper class friends spoke volumes, She was likely a stripper who got his little chubby to rise to the occasion. So what if she did, why does it matter if two people came together in a sexual night of tension or passion, they found love. Well, at least he did.
Then he died.
Daniel looked to his mom, lips drawn down in a somber expression before looking out an enormous window that stretched nearly from the floor to the upward jutting, vaulted ceiling. "You do miss him, don't you?" asked Daniel, a lump in his throat because he knew what she would say. Of course I miss him, he was my husband. Then the conversation would end and she would leave the room, only the harsh, unforgiving clack of her heels against the marble floor echoing back through the halls. Sometimes, that droning symphony was joined with her aggravated shouting at the help.
With a firm grip, he delicately placed the enormous string instrument on its stand and approached the window. Beams of gold pierced the dimly lit room and spilled out across the floor before slowly climbing up his body as he meandered into them; shimmering on his waxed, fitted, dress shoes before climbing further up his dress pants. Only the best material was used. He hated how good they felt, soft, free flowing around his legs while also pristine and free of wrinkle. It made him ashamed at times, guilty. As a child, he was happy to run around his house in his Spiderman pajamas. How ludicrous that would have been had he been born into this...at least with his mother. Each step towards the vast, glass panes drew the illumination up his body exposing his hands and tickling the bottom of his vest. A fine gray color, clinging to his lean, muscular form that showed to all that his mother's son hadn't let himself go despite their wealth. It was about time for exercise with his personal trainer, another stipulation of his mother's, he had to be perfect. He sometimes questioned if his mother had done something that even influenced the enormous shadow running down his inner thigh and unnatural large shadows under his ass. Still, as the light finally reached his face, he gazed out over the vast land being landscaped almost daily. A hand rose, slipping through the light brown locks of his silky, pristine hair. Soft, thick lips parted as he let out a sigh. No white people. Not even black people rode those lawn mowers. His mother had a specific taste of peoples she wanted to work for her, those she could pay next to nothing, and be cruel to, but could offer little in retort. Mexicans, largely illegals. The police never came here, nor immigration. Her own playground to make others feel as bad as she did inside.
"I wonder who will be cleaning house today?" mused Daniel, his mother always made sure she only hired older Mexican women, not too old to work, but not certainly not single teenagers who might corrupt her son. Always married mothers, and Catholic, devout. She wanted to be sure no temptation would enter their mind when she left to enjoy a day at the spa.
Turning away from the window, he made his way down the hall. Age did little, he still saw the looks of the women, despite being 16, and they would smile so kindly until they noticed. Hola Senior Daniel... then their voice trailed off a little as he saw their eyes go a little wide at the sight, a blush burning under their smooth off white, to mulatto skin. Not much else was said as they busied themselves. It wasn't necessarily attraction, some of them surely thought he was walking around with a salami in his pants, others joked quietly, feeling sorry for any woman who had to try and fit that thing. It didn't matter, he just appreciated the genuine smile they offered him before noticing.
"Bull shit. I am going back to bed," grumbled Daniel as he made his way to his room. The day had barely begun and he was already tired of it.