Chapter 1: Black and White
[Warning: I forgot to mention this when i first set this up, but this story is fairly 'heavy' i guess you could say. its a pretty hard topic to write about and at this moment in time its a little hard to fully explain the character. Also, i want you to know the Philip Laurier will seem melodramtic through out the beginning. I know it may seem strange and either you'll feel bad for him or think he's a spoiled brat but there is a method for my madness. If you do not wish to read a sad story then i would suggest you should probably not read this one. I actually had a preface written at the beginning of this originally that kind of explained my reasons but i felt it would be best to leave it out. Other then that if you wish to continue reading this then i will be very happy and i love criticism. I thank all who have put their time and effort into writing reviews so far and i will definitly use all your criticism to good use. Thank you.]
I can hear it. I can hear it in the sound of the water, the whispers that echo through the trees like half forgotten lore… I can feel it on my skin as it lingers weaving paths of red roses in it’s wake, the thorns piercing bumps into my very flesh. The passion that ran through me was never different and yet never the same. Always transcending but never hated. Always new but never a nuisance.
Of course, no words could ever describe the sensual feeling that seemed to have always built up inside of me as my fingers stroked the ivory keys sending waves of gentle song throughout the room. If I could then I would have never played. The soft tune was of my past. A song my mother taught me so long ago that most would have thought I would have forgotten it by now. I never did. Not once in my life. Not even a single second. I can remember her fingers running across the keys as mine were now, her face solemn but beautiful. Pale translucent skin, high paneled cheekbones, long brown hair braided loosely over her left shoulder, the other shoulder bare. Her calm grey eyes were closed, lips gently parted as she played as if she were in her own world.
As I was in my own world. The one song that followed me wherever I went, called to me whenever I wished it to call to me, spoke of only true and utter bliss as it had so long ago with my mother. Now she was no more, and I remained alone, at least as far as my memory stretched. Alone I was and alone I would stay, just me and the sound that brought me home again into my mothers warm embrace…
Of course, my dream faded leaving me in the large empty room which was the living room of the elusive Laurier mansion, home to the leader of the Laurier corporation Gerald Laurier and his two daughters Anna and Cassie. A beautiful palace it had seemed so many years ago and I… well I was none other then a nuisance, only there because I had no where else to go…
“Philip, that was b-beautiful…” Anna stammered idly, her hazel eyes flashing periodically in my direction, voice breaking through the last note that strummed ever so gently through the room. I had half forgotten she was even there, listening so intently. It almost made the lovely feeling that I had gotten from playing go sour but I would never speak of such a thing. To me, music was most enjoyed behind doors where no one could see or hear.
My eyes flicked in her direction for a few seconds before turning back towards my lovely piano, ivory coat glossy and rich, a crystal vase set atop its back shimmering under the candescent lighting. The brilliant crimson roses were the most breathtaking though as the withered petals dropped down till they fell against ivory. Truly the most beautiful of all sites.
“W-would you be as so kind to play me another?” Anna piped in again, her voice sounding like the chime of bells. She would have one of the loveliest singing voices if only she had the courage to raise her voice.
I nodded. A small acknowledgement but an acknowledgement all the same. Breathing in deeply I pressed my fingers against the cool ivory keys once again, the familiarity of a new song washing over me. This one was much more upbeat. Light and airy some would call it. I had much enjoyed learning this one a few years back but it hadn’t meant as much to me as mother’s lullaby… in fact nothing in the world meant more to me then that simple song.
Even still, I couldn’t help losing myself to the steady beat, more joyous thoughts sweeping through my head. If pictures were meant to be worth a thousand words then to me music was worth a billion. Each song portrayed a story. One of sadness, one of happiness, of joy, of sorrow, of envy, of celebration… all in all no song was ever the same as no story was ever the same. They always differed no matter close they were to the same.
I heard the door creak open, pulling me away from the story that flowed through my head like water, and I couldn’t help but find myself annoyed. This time was always my practice time and normally the only person who joined me for this hour was Anna. Anyone else didn’t have a right to be here… and interrupting half way through a song…
Of course, it was most likely Cassie. She was always quite boisterous and never really thought her actions through thoroughly before acting. She was probably snickering now as she walked in. Maybe even sneaking up behind me to scare me out of my play. Either idea could have been truthful. It was in her nature.
But as time went on and no one pulled my away from my notes, I began to relax back into the music, the story that was being told by the keys slowly fading away. I had ran out of time… out of notes. Once again the song came to a sorrowful end for I had not wanted it to end in that fact.
“B-Beautiful,” Anna murmured. My fingers lingered on the keys for a few more seconds before finally removing themselves and I turned around quickly ready to scold my younger cousin for such an act as interrupting only to see my uncle standing behind the couch, his arms crossed over his chest in the sign of authority and power. I felt a sudden ache hit my stomach as the realization hit and my eyes widened in surprise.
Gerald Laurier, my uncle, was constantly busy with work making sure everything with good and ready for work. He was the head of the Laurier corporation as I had spoken of before, and was a very rich and respected man. In that sense it was weird that I, an orphan of no more then 16 came to be living with him now.
Of course Uncle Gerald had never really told me I was a nuisance, and after my parents died took me in with open arms, but I still got the feeling that he did not wish me to be here. That I was a topic for gossip or discussion when it came to employees and such. Of course I didn’t think he hated me because of it, don’t get me wrong, it’s just I didn’t feel necessarily part of the family. An outsider.
And then there was the fact that everyone always seemed to pity me. A parentless child. An orphan. I hated pity and sympathy but for some reason I would always find myself receiving it wherever I went. I never showed that I was sad… at least not in front of anyone else… so why did people find the unexplainable urge to comfort me about something I really didn’t wish to speak to them about?
“Philip, that was very beautiful indeed,” Uncle Gerald spoke with a loud and booming voice. Some found it frightening, although I did not for he had a much more frightening and intimidating voice when he was angry. “When did you learn to play so well?”
“Time, sir,” I bowed my head to him unsurely. That was our relationship in a nut shell. Simple, a few small words to each other an a compliment here or there. Nothing more then that.
“Time indeed…” he raised his finger to his lips ponderingly, his calm grey eyes seeming to trance out. The same eyes my mother bore… except harder. More tame. “And you public school music programs are quenching your knowledge?”
“Not really…” I admitted a little embarrassedly. As a matter of fact I hated them more then anything else. Everyone always looked at me awestruck when I played and the teacher hated me more then anyone else because I had beaten her in a challenge for who was the better pianist. I knew everything that everyone was struggling to learn and it had become one of my most boring classes. “Not that I don’t like the school or anything.”
“You would be more fit in a prep school,” he murmured walking towards door. “And your semester ends this week?”
I nodded watching his ponytail wisp against his shoulder blades. Surprisingly enough Uncle Gerald had grown his hair out ever since he was a teenager and now it was literally long enough to hit the small of his back when it was down, and was glossy and brown. He grew a goatee as well but he was always well trimmed and wearing a black suit, his hair pulled back and never let loose ever. At his staggering height of 6’4 though he was a terribly intimidating man.
“And then it is the summer break,” he nodded more to himself then anyone else. “Philip, do you mind fetching us a carton of milk? We’re fresh out.”
“Yah, I don’t mind,” I added in quickly standing up from the matching ivory piano bench. Uncle Gerald never really thought about where I would be going in the future for I was sure he knew I could handle myself with whatever I chose… but he seemed to have displayed somewhat of an interest in my musical abilities… which was strange. I hoped though that he would not pull me out of my high school though, especially with next year being my senior year.
Silently, I walked into the hallway where Uncle Gerald always left money for small errands and then grabbed my jacket from off the hook by the door. Unlike Uncle Gerald, my hair was not very long, and blonde like my fathers. It was always pushed back or underneath a ball cap so I didn’t think much about it… although I would have done anything to have the same colour hair as my mother…
I didn’t know much about my father, other then the fact that he had been a travelling musician and had met my mother at one of her large concerts that grandfather always set up. Father and mother were never married but always said they would… of course I couldn’t remember my father except from photographs for he had become very sick a year after I was born and had died leaving mother and me alone. By the time I turned eight, I was very accustomed to not having a father but when my mother was taken from me as well because of some jerk who couldn’t stop himself from drinking and driving… well that was too much. I could remember all the lonely nights where I would curl up in a ball, my favourite stuffed animal tucked under one arm, and my mothers favourite blouse pressed up against my nose. Of course the scent slowly disappeared… and time started chipping at her memory as it did so many others.
There was one thing I did have though, and that was a photograph of us as a family on the day I was born. It was battered and worn because I had kept it in my pocket for years, but I never left without it.
Finally I grabbed my messenger bag from beside the door and walked out onto the porch, the world so blank… so harmless… at least that was how I felt at the time.
You have to grab the reader by the throat before you can go easy on them.
