About Remy

Genre: General/Romance

Rating: PG

Synopsis: Remy lives in a dreamworld of her own, never quite seeing what other people see, but when it comes to it, can she wake up?

Chapter I – Darkness and Nothing Else

Who am I? I write on my desk, watching the ink tattoo the grain. A soft frown fills my face, which is lit only by a candle. It flickers and I watch a droplet of wax roll down the side.

The rain is pouring down now. Can you hear it? Loud and heavy against the dark windowpane, the wind howling slowly, like a drawn out whine, then softer, like a repentive sigh, pleading for redemption.

Sometimes, all you need to do is listen. Listen. Whisper. Dream.

I'm a stranger to most people, so that's how you can see me. A silhouette against any background you would care to place me against.

No one cares for anyone else. No one is there. No one will catch you if you fall.

Forget salvation. Forget the black and white and find the endless, all encompassing grey. Forget yourself.

My favourite words are dubious, morally worrisome, and Seraph, an angel of the highest degree. There are no reasons behind them, so don't don't assume anything. You'll probably regret it if you do.

God forbid, that a piano might fall on your head.

I go to school. I live in the real world. My first name is Remy. My last is irrevelant.

I am an observer. I watch, because it is what I am good at. I notice the way other people live, and forget myself. I am not hated by other people, nor am I liked, but I am a girl who has many issues.

Spelling is not one of them. Nor is music.

The only sound I want to hear is an orchestra tuning, the dissonance a perfect harmony; haunting me like a shadow.

I am a Musician. I can appreciate the value of music. I can appreciate a beautiful harmony, but not as much as I can appreciate a beautiful disharmony. It is as rare as rain in the desert.

I never talk about music though. No one asks me, and why would they? I don't want to hear. I don't want reminding. I don't want to know.

I don't perform much anymore, in Orchestra, or solo either. Injury.

I look at my hands, then glance away to the window, which mirrors an ghost-image back at me of a girl with a frown on her face and a pair of eyes which absorb light like bottomless holes.

I can't help it with the meaninglessness that grows now. It just gathers like lichen, until I move on to something else. Restlessness. Tiredness. But then, it would be pointless to complain about it. This is me. This is what I feel.

Regret nothing, expect everything is my motto. Everyone needs rules to live by. Even Morally Worrisome people like me.

"Remy?"

I blink.

"Remy, forget the song."

I shake my head. There is no song. There is no speaker either. It's all in my imagination

"It's the same song you sing your entire life." They inform me

I am silent, trying to ignore the part of me that wants me to listen to myself.

"Remy? Remy?"

The voice becomes tangible, like a scream which is more song than anguish. "Rem-mee!"

I shake my head and try to wake up.

I think I'm lost. Really lost, as if everyday that I wander through school another part of me disappears, until I only exist in memories and somewhere the real Remy is battling back to reality. I frown again. But, if that Remy is gone, who am I?

It's confusing – life I mean – the way that things never remain the same. Even time is never constant, moving backwards and forwards and sideways until my nightmares seem more real than reality. I seem to spend most of my time wondering what has actually happened.

I go to a boarding school, to be more specific, and I try not to live in the real world even though it is the one place I exist. My first name is still Remy. My last name is still irrevelant. You see how things circle?

So? Where am I? Now, I am in my room. I don't share a room. I did, but the girl wanted out after a few weeks. I wasn't insulted; I enjoy the privacy.

I don't get insulted, as a rule. I don't know why. I take people seriously. I just can't take what they do seriously.

Funny really.

I didn't dislike the girl though. She was more thoughtful than most.

The one long window in my room faces east, the same way as my desk, and dim light is just spreading through the darkness. I am an early riser; it's the best time for thinking.

I need to get ready for school in just over half an hour, but I doubt anyone else is up, thinking. Usually, this is when I practise my Viola, but recently, my solitude has been disrupted in the practise rooms, and I hate people listenening to me practising.

There's more than one room, but the sound carries through, and I've been used to silence. This pianist will need some sleep sooner or later, so I expect he'll stop invading my time.

I don't need sleep. My life is one long dream anyway.

Wish I would wake up though.