Snippet #1465646

The audience was all rapturous silence and whispered awe as the strains of music filled the room. The pianist, hunched over his instrument with a look of intense concentration on his draw, skeletal face, paid it no mind. His fingers danced in intricate patterns over the keys, never pausing, never hesitating, the evidence of his finesse obvious to all with ears. The movement was rapid, nearly frantic, and occasionally he would jerk this way or that at the bench, involuntary movements, spasms, that he did not allow to interrupt.

Deep inside his own mind, a necessarily vast and sanctified space, Thaddeus Nox rejoiced. There was never anything in the world that brought him more pain than such intensive sessions before his instrument, but neither had he any other occasions to feel the unique euphoria of bringing music to silence. The rest of his existence was a staunch avoidance of pain, a carefully-orchestrated attempt to prolong his life as much as he might be able, but when he played, he was reckless, cavalier. His life could be draining away from him right now, the adrenaline required to keep going putting pressure on his already-weak heart, and he would not cease. Would not care. Because only here, in these spare moments when the world was nothing but himself and the instrument, was he ever truly alive at all.

All too soon, though, were they over, and this night was no exception. He almost thought it should be, that tonight ought to be somehow different from the others, but it was not. The man who was mighty before the keys, a giant of prowess and maestro most exquisite, who could hold concert halls full of people in his sway with nothing more than the delicate dance of his fingertips, was always reduced once more to the stricken, diseased husk of a person who had to be helped from the bench back into his wheelchair. And then the spell would be broken, the watchers released, subjected to the reality that was his daily test of endurance, the realization that the Goliath was a dying David, with no hope of casting the stone. The applause was always momentous, but for him, the sound of it was tinged with sadness.

His new nurse chatted happily behind him as she wheeled him out of the building, and he listened politely, throwing in a comment here or there where he thought it appropriate. He was more drained than he had counted on being, though, and so when she pushed him to the coat rack and grabbed what she thought was his, he did not have the presence of mind to correct her. The agony was beginning to set in as his muscles tightened and cramped after their exertion, and he could no more lift a finger than he could run a marathon.

Thaddeus kept himself focused on his breathing, consciously forcing the air in and out from his slightly-hooked nose, that the pace of it might remain steady. His symptoms grew more acute each day. Having survived to the day five years longer than he was supposed to, he knew that his time was limited. Soon, very soon, his heart would give out; simply lose the strength to keep beating, or his lungs to breathe on their own. This, he reflected as he was ferried back to the sanatorium by car, was something he had come to accept.

It wasn't until the nurse had him settled back into his bed that he realized her mistake. "Rebecca?" he asked as she turned to leave, and the young woman, fresh from school, no doubt, halted and turned back with a smile. Thaddeus was ever one of the least-bothersome patients one could have, even at a facility for the dying. "This cloak... it is not mine."

"Isn't it?" the pretty brunette picked it up, realization dawning on her face. "Oh dear... umm... I'll just take it and drive it back, shall I?"

Thaddeus smiled thinly and shook his head slightly. "I'm sure most everyone will be gone by now. Just leave it here for tonight, and I'll tell the day nurse tomorrow that I made a mistake. You should go home and sleep." He had learned from her near-constant talking that she had a fiancee at home, and he would not want to keep her for something so easily rectified.

"Oh... of course. Thank you, Thaddeus." He inclined his head, and with the flash of a vivacious smile, she was gone, cloak left on the coat hook beside his bed. He had envied people with so much life in them, once, but now he chose not to. Everyone had problems, his were just more obvious. You never knew what was hiding behind a friendly smile, after all. Nobody had the perfect life, and he at the very least had managed to find something fulfilling in his, and that was an achievement some people would live thrice or four times as long as he and never discover.

The young man settled back against his pillows. He'd spoken to his father earlier today, and he'd played a concert this evening. Few days in recent memory had been quite so nice. He could not ask for a better day to die. Letting his eyes drift closed, he ignored his body's constant protests against existing. It wouldn't have to protest much longer, anyway. For a few moments, Thaddeus was hyper-aware of the sound of his own breathing, a more intricate sound than he had ever thought it to be, but soon even this slipped from his awareness. Darkness slowly engulfed every one of his senses, blocking him from her world as thoroughly as the midnight-colored cloak on his coat hook might, and the youthful pianist embraced oblivion.

---

He had no idea how long he spent aware of absolutely nothing, only that he was now awake again, albeit unable to see anything. That hardly mattered to him, though, because there was something he didn't feel that pressed upon his mind with more urgency. His pain was gone! He felt... strangely whole. Perhaps this was the afterlife? It was hard to say. He knew, though, that even though he could not see himself, he was standing, on his own, without pain. There was a weight on his shoulders he was unaccustomed to, and he touched one hesitantly, feeling a smooth, thick fabric beneath them. That was odd; he certainly remembered owning no such thing.

It soon left his mind, though, for he felt compelled to walk in a specific direction. Unsure exactly what it was that caused the feeling, he nevertheless embraced it, and took a cautious step forward. To his eternal wonderment, his legs worked in just the manner he had asked them to, and he took another. With each tread, he seemed to grow stronger, and before long, he was jogging, then sprinting, relishing in the feel of exertion he had never in his lifetime been able to manage. He reached breakneck speed, but still he did not stop. The sensation of running was so new, so wonderful, that he was certain her could spend the rest of time doing nothing else and be satisfied with that.

Something or someone seemed to have other ideas, however, and Thaddeus had the distinct impression of passing through something before he once again lost his hold on consciousness.

---

"Oi, blighter, what do ya think yer doin'?" The voice shattered the silence with the weight of a boulder, and Thaddeus stirred. "Oi, c'mon, I said get up now." It's tone was distinctly feminine, and though the words were rude, the tone was more amused than anything.

The blighter in question furrowed his eyebrows, cracking first one eyelid and then the other, blinking both when he noted that the morning sun was in his face. Now that's odd... I had the strangest dream. I was running, and then... He wasn't really sure who this nurse was (perhaps she too was new), but he was kind of confused. He had been so certain that he was going to die last night; everything had had such an air of finality to it. He was almost a bit put off that it was not so- he'd put all his affairs in order and everything.

The face above his swam into view, and he found himself looking at a beautiful lady... with slitted golden eyes and sharply-pointed ears. Thaddeus gasped, sitting bolt upright and looking around frantically. The strange woman chuckled and shook her head of black hair. "My, my, you look like you've seen a ghost, lad."

Thaddeus scarcely heard, so shocked was he. He had just glanced downward and caught sight of his own forearm. "Th-that can't be right..." he stammered, but sure enough, the leanly-muscled limb rose at his mental direction, and he twisted it this way and that with no difficulty- no ache. His fingers were still the long and dexterous digits they had always been, but lacked the knobby boniness that had always been their identifying characteristic.

"Of course it's not," the woman replied slowly, as though she were dealing with someone slightly simple. "Ghosts don't exist, lad."

"No, no, not that. I mean... this," he said, gesturing expansively to the surrounding area, filled to the brim with people dressed strangely going about their business as though there were nothing odd about it at all. Included of course, was his reference to his own body, which by all his mental accounts was both healthy and strong. It felt... comfortable.

"Oh, I get it. Yer from the country. Never seen Jervaise before, eh? Well, ya needn't worry too much; just don't get on the wrong end of the guard, and you'll be fine. Here," the odd woman offered Thaddeus a hand up, which he took, pulling himself to his feet with unnecessary trepidation. It was... easy, and he stood with no difficulty at all. He felt light on his feet, like a tense twine, ready to move at the slightest hair-trigger.

"Thank you," he breathed, smiling brightly at the woman, who colored slightly for some reason and looked down.

"Eh, sure. No need to thank me, country boy. Now, off with yerself. I hafta set up shop fer the day." She made a gesture of shooing, and he obliged, ducking out into the main street. The sights around him, he drank in like an overeager child, so fascinated with the fact that he could move about at will that nothing else really struck him as strangely as it should have. Unbeknownst to him, his flannel pajamas were generally hidden by the black cloak he wore, so the weird looks he received were minimal, and mostly due to his lack of footwear or the fact that he didn't really seem to know where he was going.

He scarcely noticed if there were other people like him in the vicinity, but he did catch someone waving at him. He waved back and approached the girl. Her ash-blond hair was a few shades lighter even than his, but something about her seemed... odd. As he got closer, he realized that she was not human at all, but made of something resembling porcelain or ceramic. This didn't bother him as much as it might have; he had been awoken by a woman with pointy ears and cat-eyes, after all. "Hello," he greeted amicably, not really sure if she could speak or not. "Are you new here, too, by chance? Because I just got here, and it's the strangest thing..." he trailed off, slightly uncertain of himself. After all, who would believe the story he told? A man who was once sickly and dying, waking up in a strange new world with a body that was whole and pain-free? It was a bizarre tale, that much was certain.