Danse Macabre

That cool Austum morning in early March, when the air smelt sweet from the mixture of the eucalyptus trees with the soggy smell that lingered from the recent down pour, was the day that my life literally crashed and burned. It was the day when the symphony of birds singing, frogs trumpeting, wind whistling was shattered by the cacophony of car breaks, screeching tires and metal crunching.

My thumb had hung perpendicular to my wrist, hanging on by a single piece of skin as it slowly like a metronomic pendulum, swung from side to side. As for my other figures, my gleaming white metacarpals, a thin convulsing vein and that droopy thumb were the only recognisable features.

The sight of my silver subaru twisted around the thick trunk of a eucalyptus tree like a giant metal bow tie, the smells of petrol and cooking meat, the sounds of crackling fire and my devil like scream still haunt me. I knew that day that I would never play the violin again, but it wasn't until much later that I believed it was true.

That next day I had woken to the thick harmonic sounds of Danse Macabre by Saint-Saens emitting from a small silver radio sitting motionlessly on the cold sterile surface of my hospital bed side table. Now, that same thick melody fully engulfed my body 23 years later.

My body writhed in pleasure as I violently swung my asymmetrical arms up into the air as if possessed by the devil. My whole body swayed to the summoning power of the waltz beat eminating from teh symphony orchetsra.

"Wait a minute. Everybody stop. Flutes you came in 3 bars early and strings you are rushing. The dead can't dance with the devil if the music is played too fast, they'd just fall over"

A rumble of laughter emitted from the orchestra. I was now the conductor of the SSO. As a teenager, I had always dreamed of joining this orchestra but since the accident, I didn't think it was possible.

I still struggle at times to believe that the one part of my life that I had put so much time and effort to, and one that I received so much joy from, had been cruelly wrenched from me.

I still wished that I wasn't in so much of a hurry to get to rehearsal that day, wished that I had seen the kangaroo standing beside the road, wished my friends had not been in the car when I swerved off the slippery road. I wished I could go back in time and change everything, but wishing doesn't achieve anything. I know.

Ben was a stunning cellist, Samantha was a flawless flautist and Henry, my darling Henry, was the most passionate pianist I have ever met.

"All right everybody lets go from the top. Jane, I want you to accent your tritones more in the opening passage. When you perform tonight, I want those notes to resonate off every surface of the Opera House and scare the living daylights out of the devil himself"

"Ok mum"

I stared into her deep blue eyes, Henry's eyes, and watched as she did her little twitch before raising her ruby red violin, my violin, and wedging it between her elegant chin and slender neck. She always did that. Just like I used too.

I took a deep breath in and counted in the orchestra. 1, 2, 3. I gently pulsated my fingerless limb as 12 gloriously rounded tones from the harp filled the air like an intoxicating gas. After a slight pause, I leapt into the air, pointing at Jane's slender and readied figure.

Her tritone passage pierced the air like a bullet through the water. The power emitted from that violin shook the wooden floor beneath my feet. Her chord, concentration and passion penetrated the ears and hearts of every musician sitting as still and stunned as the dead, their instruments trembling slightly with excitement. In this moment, a lone bright tear dripped down my face as my lips curled into a smile

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