Post by Aviva Locke on Mar 16, 2007 19:56:19 GMT -5
She probably should have been doing something right now, she was always doing something. It was push, push, push, never stop pushing. The things she once loved were so intolerable now that she could hardly find her place. She was in a strange state of mind, one she hadn’t ever experienced before. She was being used, her parents wanted her to become rich and famous for their own benefit, and she couldn’t stand it. Her only two solutions were to stop playing the piano, stop singing, stop dancing, stop everything. The second was become famous, and not give her parents anything. She would choose one of these two, because she wasn’t the type to lay down and be walked all over.
However, this made her believe the first choice, give up, would be laying down, or at least kneeling down. She could still be stepped on kneeling, and she wasn’t about to have that happen. She didn’t know what she wanted, she couldn’t find the words to speak her mind, so she expressed herself in another manner.
Aviva Locke could be found in the auditorium a little off center stage. The Bosendorfer Baby Grand Piano was sitting there, and Ava was sitting there on the stool. It was beautiful, the piano. It was one of the smallest baby grands that were made, but it was still amazing. It was finished in ebony with a high polish so it shined in the din stage lights. It was her favorite. Because of its construction, the sound quality in the bass, and the variety of the range of colors that could be achieved overall, combined to produce an exciting experience when she played it. She loved to feel the notes softly pierce through her chest, as the notes rung out, filling the large room.
She was playing something random, something amazing that she had thought up in her head while sitting in math. Her eyes were closed, she moved with the tempo, achieving some impossible triplet sixteenth notes that few could really master all in a row.
Next her real prize kicked in, that voice. It sent chills down your spine with every note. It was a voice that stunned you for at least half an hour after she had finished. She was amazing, she projected with a full, vibrant, yet sorrowful tone. Perfectly lifted soft pallet, her tone impeccable, and her sound coming out before the very little air, her floating ribs were braced outward to keep her support and her diaphragm was tight and working away, it was natural to her. It was also very obvious that she was highly trained. Even over the piano her voice filled the room.
“My lemon love. Why you gotta break on me. Why gotta shut me slowly down, the road from here.”
However, this made her believe the first choice, give up, would be laying down, or at least kneeling down. She could still be stepped on kneeling, and she wasn’t about to have that happen. She didn’t know what she wanted, she couldn’t find the words to speak her mind, so she expressed herself in another manner.
Aviva Locke could be found in the auditorium a little off center stage. The Bosendorfer Baby Grand Piano was sitting there, and Ava was sitting there on the stool. It was beautiful, the piano. It was one of the smallest baby grands that were made, but it was still amazing. It was finished in ebony with a high polish so it shined in the din stage lights. It was her favorite. Because of its construction, the sound quality in the bass, and the variety of the range of colors that could be achieved overall, combined to produce an exciting experience when she played it. She loved to feel the notes softly pierce through her chest, as the notes rung out, filling the large room.
She was playing something random, something amazing that she had thought up in her head while sitting in math. Her eyes were closed, she moved with the tempo, achieving some impossible triplet sixteenth notes that few could really master all in a row.
Next her real prize kicked in, that voice. It sent chills down your spine with every note. It was a voice that stunned you for at least half an hour after she had finished. She was amazing, she projected with a full, vibrant, yet sorrowful tone. Perfectly lifted soft pallet, her tone impeccable, and her sound coming out before the very little air, her floating ribs were braced outward to keep her support and her diaphragm was tight and working away, it was natural to her. It was also very obvious that she was highly trained. Even over the piano her voice filled the room.
“My lemon love. Why you gotta break on me. Why gotta shut me slowly down, the road from here.”
