An Opera Unfolds

This is one of my chapters for a collaboration that a great friend and I are doing. My post with Marie Curie  was also included (with a few tweaks). Also, check out my collaboration partner, JeromeR.Vandamme! He's a fantastic writer! :)

Anticipate The Roar

::

Shutting the door behind me, all noise ceases abruptly like a wall blocking the notes of a concerto. There are little groups of people packed into the corners of the halls, hushing each other to check over their shoulders before continuing their whispers.

Grasping my file folders closer to my chest, I tip-toe down the hallway from Personal History lecture and out of the nearest exit to the courtyard to escape the crackling hum.

Another door to shut, but now I can finally breathe. From a room where my instructors mindlessly repeat what my music style should be, to a hallway where the tension could snap a violin bow before it settles it's strings. Days like today, I wish for the deafness Beethoven has now been spared.

Forcing my chin up and away from its familiar perch on the tops of my music sheets, I set a course to my studio, pondering the source of the rumors.

Where did Martha go?

It was awfully strange for her to not make her rounds before ten last night to bid everyone sweet dreams. Absently my hand prods the bags under my eyes. The instructors had not been happy with them or my honest explanation. Although they did not answer my question regarding Martha's disappearance.

"She has bid a leave, probably for a vacation of sorts, and she'll be back soon, I'm sure. Now, get some sleep Mozart; Headmaster will not be pleased when her genius is not presentable for his next concerto."

Sighing, I drop a hand onto the handle of the Arts building door and breathe. "My concerto," I say in an exhale, and finally twist the handle to let myself in.

"Wolf! Wait up!"

Turning around I hold open the door for Marie and instantly my worries clear away when she smiles. I can still remember when I had caught her in my studio, hesitantly brushing the keys. She was embarrassed. Now she's a complete opposite from the girl who I had seen glimpses in the Personal History hallway.

"How is your opera coming along?" she asks, and I groan inwardly at the reminder.

"It's.. coming along. I have a concerto I also have to work on."

She nods understandably, and we walk in silence to my studio. With the glass doors shut, we head to my piano where she immediately seats herself on the bench and practices her scales while I start sorting the two pieces I am working on into their respective piles.

 "Have you heard the rumors?" she asks nonchalantly without a break in her scales.

I cut myself on a couple sheets from my startle and plop my left index finger into my mouth. "About Martha?" I mumble around my finger.

She nods her wispy bun. "They're saying that she has gone off on vacation," she says with a snort. "But she wouldn't have gone without telling us, right? And anyways, the rumor is that she's finally gotten in trouble with Headmaster."

I suck on my cut as my heart drops from my chest to my belly. There is a dull thud of my heartbeat as I recall Headmaster's cold attitude towards Martha last week when she had complained that I shouldn't have to do a concerto and opera scheduled for this weekend.

"Salvador!" Marie calls abruptly and I snap my head up to see Salvador pass by the studio in the hallway. She's off the bench and opening the door to greet our friend in an instant. Her gasp resonates throughout the room. "Your eyes, Salvador.."

He brushes off her comment with a shrug and I notice the dark bruise over his right eye, partially hidden by his long locks. His hair is usually swept up out of her face, but today it looks greasy and wild.

"What happened?" I ask, dumbfounded that anyone would resort to violence on campus.

"Nothing," he answers but he's not looking at either of us. His eyes are sweeping over our heads. "An instructor got on my nerves, that's all."

"Well, maybe Martha-" Marie starts, but stops herself.

At her dejection, Salvador finally turns to look at her and relaxes, placing a hand on her head to reassure her. I creep closer to them and grab hold of Marie's hand.

"Don't worry," he says, voice clear, and I'm surprised to recognize anger hidden underneath his words. "I'll find her."

::

And I should really be finishing up the next chapter since it's my turn -.-

Keep cheery!

mera.

Read More

A Muted Glow

JournalWord: Living someone else's life.

::

"Ms. Curie, these reports look wonderful," Headmaster states, heavy, violet shadowed eyes peeking from over the tops of two of my experiment overviews. She smiles, pleased, as she taps the two reports together and stacks them neatly in front of her on the desk. 

Her long fingers curl and lock into each other in front of her thin mouth, her elbows set on either side of the reports as if trapping them for herself. "But that isn't why I called for you." She waits, expectantly, her thin eyebrows raised as high as her Botox would allow on her forehead. 

Nervously, I tuck a lock of my unruly, dark hair behind my ear. I don't quite understand why everyone calls me Ms. Curie, I mean, I may be the clone of Marie Curie, but Curie is her husband's last name, and I'm only fifteen; far from married. 

Headmaster is still focused on me, so I reply honestly, "If not for my reports, I am at a loss of why my presence is required."

"Ah, yes. I'm sure being away from your laboratory is cumbersome, but Ms. Curie, your instructors have brought to my attention your recent inattention and disagreeable behavior during Personal History lectures. As well, your frequent disappearances from your lab has brought alarm. Care to explain why your instructors would be concerned about one of our very best?"

Immediately a spark of anger furls in my chest at my 'babysitters', because really, they don't teach me anything I don't already know. Their only job is to ensure I am continually researching and experimenting, expanding the original Marie Curie's work. It really is no business of theirs to know where I am during my breaks, or whether I decide to spend my breaks out of my lab. As for my behavior during PH lecture, I've found that it has become increasingly more difficult to listen about who I am supposed to be after speaking with Salvador. 

"Ms. Curie?" she calls, and I turn my solid gaze to meet her attentive stare. 

All signs of my inner turmoil are shielded behind the practiced calm and blank expression fashionably donned by the original Marie. "The time away from my experimentation is irksome and I apologize for focusing solely on my research during Personal History lecture, Headmaster. As for my breaks, I frequent a walk to rejuvenate the neurons and refresh my circulation. Pavlov suggested the light exercise to stimulate my brain and relieve my mild migraines."

It's all lies, and I mentally send an apology to seventeen year old Ivan for using him as an excuse. I'm instantly swept with shame for my betrayal and lies. 

"Of course! How could I doubt you, Ms. Curie. You're one of this school's best!" Her pleased smile is enough for me to bury the shame. Her expectations overshadow any doubt, just like Salvador predicted. "Now for your migraines, please report them to the infirmary if they persist."

I nod in agreement. "Thank you, Headmaster, I will. Now if that is all.." I trail off, eyes locked with hers. I hope she doesn't see the rebellion against her perfectly sculpted, cloning prison flashing behind my irises. 

She waves a manicured, tanned hand towards her door and I graciously stand up. As I turn the elegant door handle of her door, I linger, frowning briefly at how pale my complexion is in comparison, and wonder if the sun reflects off the sand as I had seen in the original collection of Dali. I remember a tuneless conversation when Salvador had commented that his paintings would have more depth if he could see and feel all that the original Dali had, instead of just expanding from taught knowledge of the original's from PH lecture.  

As I walk, I sweep my eyes over the hallways, passing through the cleared areas systematically as if I am on my way to the lab. Straight backed and a blank expression on my face, I remain the famous Marie Curie whom is absorbed in her work at all times, to those that would have passed. I am still her as I walk right past my laboratory, and past Darwin's biological museum. In fact, I am still my original when I walk out of the Sciences and head for the Arts.

My presence here is irrelevant and impertinent to my research, which would be said by the Headmaster if ever she is to find out. I'm just glad that cameras are not deemed a necessity for our facility. Teenage clones of famous researchers and artists are apparently not a danger, and for that I am relieved.

My instructors would constantly harbor the belief that my mind should only need to be filled with chemistry and physics. And although, yes, I've excelled above and beyond their standards for an original, I'm not quite sure I agree with their assumptions. 

Wolfgang Mozart is plucking notes from his piano and furiously jotting onto his stacks of sheets when I enter his studio. The array of shiny instruments greet me with their polished skins. It seems as though the room instills its own ambiance with the haphazard musical sheets strewn everywhere. I take careful steps over the scores in my path towards the bobbing ponytail. 

I envy the length of his hair, already to the length of his lower back and strung up in a simple ribbon. I urge from petting my own shoulder cropped mass, routinely swapped into a messy bun while working. The sleekness of his hair matches the brass winds and I curse my dull curls. Although my jealousy roars, I still recognize that it is a shame he has to hide his glorious mane under a powdered wig while playing for the sponsors.

"Wolf," I whisper gently to stir him from his concerto. 

He whips around, having been so focused, he hadn't heard me creep in. "Marie," he calls, a bright smile exploding across his cheeks. "My dear, you must join me," he exuberantly commands, sliding to pat the space on the mahogany bench. 

I almost forget that he's only ten years old when he speaks, but then again, age does not seem vital to chemically altered geniuses. I return his excited smile with one as bright as his own as I seat myself onto the warm wood. 

"I was just finishing this one up," he explains, quickly swooping his pen over the scores, tacking notes in places he can only see fit. With a flourish, he signs the end of the score with a series of swirls and elaborate lines that don't match with the scores layered on the studio floor.

"Wolf, that isn't your signature," I murmur, not completely sure I am pointing this out for him or for myself. 

His smile falters and he blushes, revealing his true innocence. "Well, this isn't something for the sponsors," he answers and coughs to clear his throat. "This isn't something from Mozart."

And I understand. Wolf stares longingly at the score he will not be able to show or play for anyone and my heart lurches at the thought of this boy hiding his true self for the sake of resurrecting the perfect image and sound of an icon for our rich sponsors. I promise to ask him to play it for me next time.

Tucking the sheets into a folder, he clears the keys of his mess and claps his hands. "Now, for your lessons," he announces, his familiar warm smile welcoming me to his private world. "Do you remember the scale we practiced yesterday?"

Nodding, I take up the ivories, my fingers skipping and slipping occasionally at the unfamiliar motions, but the tinkling of keys and sound relaxes my mind and allows me a moment to breathe.

As I attempt to copy Wolf's fingers, I can't help the disbelief that I, clone of renowned physicist and chemist, Marie Curie, am seated at a piano and creating music instead of in my laboratory, recreating the thoughts of a woman who died for her discoveries. 

For now, I am just Marie, who loves music. Who plays with her best friend on her breaks, and met a boy who questions his original in hopes of being himself. And although the repercussions of this rebellion picks and worries into my existence every day since I first found myself gazing at the piano in Wolfe's studio, I continue to play it because I feel like the teenage girl I should be; not the mother, daughter and wife, I will never be.

I am Marie, who doesn't refuse music like her original. 

::

Oh my, this was a doozy! 
I had to research a lot on the characters, especially the original's personality (quite a feat considering they were more known for their accomplishes, not attititude). 

Well, I really liked this one, and I hope you enjoyed it as well :D 
Let me know what you thought!

Keep bubbly!

Mera

Read More