A Musical Morning

1285 Words3 Pages

The gentle strum of the bass guitar ends the silence of the night with a soft yet deep note that brings consciousness to me. "Beautiful Morning With You" by the Pillows fills my ears like the soft sunlight filtering through the shades of my window, bringing light to my dark world. I am awake without effort. The light tapping of the cymbals dispels the ethereal world of dreams around me. The strum of the guitar strings come again insistently, pushing my eyelids slowly open as I find my way from the world of dreams. As I sit up at the edge of my bed, vision bleary, the clear vocals of the day-dreaming singer bring the daylight to full realization. A soft synthesized electrical guitar enters and plays a colorful melody, a musical representation of the dreamy haze slowly fading away. The vocalist’s voice rises in volume to match the swell of music pushing through the morning haze. My world speeds up and it's all a blur as I go through the motions of my morning routine paced by an energized vocalist backed by a frenetic guitar rhythm and fast-paced drums. The crashes of the cymbals pump pure energy through my veins, and my morning blazes by.

A harmonious clash and the last clear notes of the vocalist trail off and I suddenly find myself sitting on the transit, everything once again moving along at a tranquil pace, the guitar once again taking up its rhythmic strums that slowly push my day forward. I look outside at the passing scenery, bathed in the morning light. The ethereal sounds of a supporting guitar dreamily laze by like the slowly passing trees outside. The tranquil sound of the consistently timed guitar strums brings peace to my day. Before I know it, I arrive at my destination and I get off.

As my foot hits the ground the...

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...it may rest in peace. The heavy instruments cease their mourning calls leaving only a somber guitar and parting words from the vocalist. As the eulogy ends, the vocalist bursts into a mournful cry. The guitarists' lament is unleashed as a flurry of notes are shred across their guitars, fingers tear through the guitar strings as blood form the crimson teardrops of the guitar. The war drums kick into a primal rage and beat down the heavens as the sky pours forth rain. As the vocalist bares his final farewells, the guitars and drums slowly drop their pace, returning to the heavy riff from the beginning. As the song released itself into the world and the finals notes of the guitar died off, I turned away from the bin. As I looked up into the dark skies, I noticed the rain was picking up. I began to walk away from the bin and put on up hood.

It was only a cup of coffee.

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