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INSIDE OF AN OLD THEATRE, a young male stood alone on the stage. A guitar was in his hands; strapped across his back as he strummed its strings, producing a lulling melody blending together harmoniously with his voice as he sang a song, he had written himself.
He needed no microphone, no gleaming stage lights, no audience. It was just his guitar, his voice and himself. That was all he wanted.
Years ago, he dreamt of performing on a stage like this, but with a microphone that projected his voice to thousands of his fans. He wanted the gleaming stage lights that would illuminate his figure like he was an angel sent from the heavens above. He wanted an audience to hear what he had to say. . . but that wasn't possible anymore.
Now he was forced to perform in an empty theatre, in front of an audience that couldn't judge him for the monster he had become, because they weren't there. It would only be himself blessed to hear the tunes he both created and sang from the heart. . . like every other moment in his life, he was— Alone.
His fingers danced with the strings of the guitar. His calloused tips strumming a different sound with each flick of his finger, which had memorised the choreography and routine to this one song, that sadly, was coming to end.
His eyes were closed, hiding his brown doe eyes from no one as he sang, each note perfection, no strain evident as he sang the words effortlessly like he was doing something as simple as breathing. This was how talented he is; he needn't belt out notes and make the veins on his neck burst, even the highest of notes came naturally to him. It was like he was destined to sing. . . so why did destiny itself have to be so cruel?
Drawing out the last note, his high note sent chills even down his own spine as his voice echoed off of the walls for a few moments, until he was encased into a comfortable, yet sombre, silence.
That was until, it was broken unexpectedly.
Clapping sounded from the stands where the audience would be sat usually, however, no one should be there. No one should have heard him singing because he was alone. . . wasn't he.
The unsuspecting boy had flinched when he heard someone clapping, surprised he hadn't been able to hear whoever it was come in. It was difficult for someone to sneak up on him, although apparently it wasn't impossible.
Then came a voice once the clapping seized. "That was beautiful. Truly magnificent." it said. It was a females voice— one that was all too familiar to him. One that he never expected, nor wanted, to hear again.
