Track 3 - “From the Pits of Hell”

“Tadzio! There’s no food left!” Solomon cried one day. “We don’t have money to buy any either!”

Solomon pulled me into his arms from where I sat by the window with lace curtains and groaned, “We’ll starve and rot at this rate…”

“We have water.”

“That might be enough for you, but not for me. I need to eat something tasty.”

After making that selfish statement, Solomon went quiet. He was lost in thought for a moment before he quietly stood up.

“I’ll go earn us some money.”

At that moment, I sensed something a little off about him. Solomon took off his frayed shirt and pulled out a fine knit sweater. It was one he used to wear often when we met on campus at the university. He slicked back his hair and sprayed on some perfume.

“Some weirdo might come barging in here, so stay in the closet until I get back.” He said, ushering me towards the closet. “I bought a stronger lock for it.”

“You’re going to the professor’s place…?”

The words… slipped past my lips.

Solomon didn’t seem to care as he said, “Something like that.”

A sick feeling settled in my chest.

“You should stop doing that.” Without realizing, the words tumbled out of my mouth.

Solomon froze for a moment, then looked at me.

“What do you mean by that?”

“…It’s not a good thing to do.”

He let out a short, bitter laugh. The warmth drained from his blue eyes, his gaze replaced by an icy glare.

“Tadzio… Are you looking down on me, even though you’re just a puppet?” Solomon spat before slamming the closet door shut.

The lock clicked into place, and eventually, Solomon’s presence left the room. I buried my face in my knees.

…I said something I shouldn’t have. I knew that much.

Even so, I thought…

That gentle song, the one fit for a music box.

I thought it suited him… since I could feel someone else there.

I didn’t really know how much time had passed.

Through the crack in the closet door, I saw that the room had grown dark. Yet, Solomon still hadn’t returned.

Maybe he would leave me there for days… Again…

Just as that thought had crossed my mind, I heard voices coming closer, pulling me back to my senses.

“That’s when I tried to talk to Jay.”

“Yeah. That was after he got caught, right?”

Then, I heard the door open.

When I realized it was Solomon, I held my breath.

“You said it messes you up right? Let me try it.”

“Sure thing. It’ll cost ya two beers, though.”

There were loud footsteps, carrying with them the stench of alcohol and the sweet scent of smoke. The light flickered on, illuminating the room and filtering through the crack in the closet door. When I peeked through the crack, I spotted Amon and his friends.

Why…?

I tensed up. My arm throbbed in pain, even though it wasn’t there.

A chunk of Amon’s right earlobe was missing, but it looked like he and Solomon had made up. The two were goofing off and laughing together.

Suddenly, there was a loud shriek of laughter. With the illegal device behind his ear, Solomon’s mind seemed to disconnect. With hysterical and breathless giggles, he sank down onto the sofa… and blacked out.

Amon and his friends burst out laughing at the sight of him.

I felt a sense of dread.

Dread flooded within me. I curled up, trying to shrink myself. Trying to erase my very existence.

“Can this guy really play the piano? Even though he’s such a mess?”

“It’s prolly the only thing he’s good at.”

I tried to think of something—_anything—_else, like music. No song came to mind.

But… the only thing I knew of to drown out voices like those… was music.

“Remember that one time that guy came into this place?”
“Oh yeah… It was that blonde that bought back that instrument Solomon sold off.”

I didn’t want to listen anymore.

“Didn’t that guy give him one of his songs too? What is this, some kinda soap opera?” They sneered. “Rich people make me siiiick.”

My heart ached, like it was being squeezed.

“Solomon got pissed off and chased him out, didn’t he?”

“Yup. He was alright after that though. He even said he could sell it off again. I remember askin’ him to play somethin’, but he wouldn’t.”

“He said his fingers were shakin’ cuz of the booze.”

“Just another piece of trash from the same dump. He’s not any more special than the rest of us,” someone said.

I closed my eyes.

Behind my eyelids, I saw a flicker of golden hair, green eyes… and careful, precise handwriting.

I… recognized it.

I recognized that handwriting.

“So you’re the type of person that writes down fingerings, huh?”

It wasn’t long after I came to this country. I was practicing in one of the studio rooms.

I’d secretly picked out a piece my mother would’ve scolded me for, and played it whenever I had spare time.

Chopin’s Étude, Op.25: “Winter Wind.”

I thought that if I played it, maybe I’d come to understand his music. It was around the time that I’d been introduced to him by the professor, so I was still a little giddy from our first conversation.

That day, I’d been glaring at the score. I was too focused to notice him passing by the room, nor his decision to come in on a whim.

“What’s giving you trouble? Measure 61?”

He’d snuck up behind me, and hearing his voice nearly made me jump.

He leaned over my shoulder to peek at the part of the score I was stuck on, and let out a quiet chuckle.

“So you’re the type of person that writes down fingerings, huh? So am I…” He said, holding up the score he was carrying and showing it to me.

It was the same piece, Winter Wind. I felt all flustered for no good reason.

But… that’s why I recognized it. His handwriting… neat, square, and precise. Just like the writing that was on the sheet music hidden in the closet.

“He’ll be dead soon too.”

“Aren’t all alcoholics and junkies like that anyways?”

The guys in the room all talked about how they’d sell off his violin once Solomon kicked the bucket. They joked about how it wouldn’t even be worth spare change.

“That sheet music’s prolly just garbage too,” One of them said.

Something hot clawed up my throat.

Behind my closed eyes, I could see him smiling.

That god-like smile… Frederick…

No one had the right to mock his life, but because he was gone, traces of his life were still being carelessly and pointlessly defiled.

And I couldn’t do anything about it. I didn’t even have a fist to raise in his defense.

Tears welled up in my eyes before they streamed down my face. My thoughts dissolved into a blur.

The world is too cruel. It killed him.

I hated the world, all of it, for letting me live.

No one is just. Nothing is beautiful.

There is no God.

It should’ve killed me.

It should have been me…! Not Frederick…!

A flash of heat exploded in my skull.

Then, I heard a metallic clang.

Slowly, the closet door creaked open. The padlock had fallen to the floor. Somehow, the chain had been broken.

Beyond my haze of tears, I saw Amon with a surprised look on his face.

He met my eyes and smiled subtly. Then, I was pulled out of the closet.

…Just like a puppet.

It was only then that the sounds of music started to come back to me.

Chopin’s étude, which began with a solitary note—a gentle, drawn out fermata—before the storm roared in. Fierce, powerful, and merciless. The piece is written in half notes, which makes the tempo faster than expected.

“Your left-handed fingering is much more elegant,” was something he’d told me once. At the time, I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that the reason why was because I was left-handed. I never practiced the piece again after that.

But now… Chopin’s Winter Wind rages through my mind, the fierce runs just like leaves swept up in a storm. Just like me.

Faintly, I heard someone singing a song fit for a music box.

It was Solomon.

“Does it hurt?” He asked, pushing the needle into my earlobe.

It was a beautiful afternoon. Sunlight seeped into the room, and the lace curtains of the window cast faint shadows across Solomon’s cheeks.

“Not at all,” I replied.

Not at all. There were things in the world that hurt way more. Getting an ear pierced was nothing.

Even if the winter wind swept me away, it wouldn’t hurt. The reality that had struck me down was more cruel, more vicious, more ruthless than anything.

I would never be able to just forgive and forget what it did to me. Yet… it seemed to just end it all without my say.

It took everything from me, and then—as if none of it had ever happened—it went back to hiding its cruelty with a pretty mask.

Underneath it all, it’s still ugly anyway. That’s why it doesn’t matter in the end.

But still… Chopin wrote a piece for Paganini…

My tears spilled over.

It was a piece far too tender to be dedicated to the musician who sold his soul to the devil… and yet, it violently changed into the Winter Wind.

I thought of Frederick, and how his long fingers flashed as they danced across the piano keys. Soon, his image melted away… leaving behind a blur of green and gold behind my eyelids.

Before I knew it, the night was over, morning and afternoon had passed, and the fiery sunset sky seeped through the window.

After Amon and the others had left, the morning skies were clear. If Solomon had made the money he said he would, we would have eaten something nice, and he’d be singing.

“Tadzio, what should we do today?”

“Anything. It’s a beautiful day out.”

That kind of morning was long gone. It was already evening, and it was far too late for anything like that.

I remained sprawled out on the floor, lost in old memories.

I thought of that kid with blonde hair and green eyes. The one that played with sound as if it were magic.

…I wondered if that kid was still alive.

“Fuck… I got totally hammered.”

It seemed like he finally woke up.

Solomon pushed himself up off the sofa. His blue eyes drifted about the room until they found me, still lying on the floor. His gaze swept over me, observing the state I was in.

“Oh…” was the only thing he uttered before he asked, “Does it hurt?”

“Not at all.”

Solomon smiled, then helped me up. He brushed his fingers against my ear.

“It’s starting to get infected…” He murmured.

His eyes were endlessly soft, his voice was low and gentle.

With every word he spoke, the bit of metal in his tongue caught the light of the setting sun.

“Sing…” I croaked.

Solomon shot me a confused look.

“Sing for me, Solomon…”

Solomon squinted a bit before he pressed the tip of his nose against my forehead. Something cold and metallic passed over the corner of my eye. It was a gesture of love that lived for only that moment, already fading as his lips brushed against my forehead.

Solomon held me close and gently stroked my back as he sang. His singing was precise and free.

Absently, I thought that once Solomon finished singing, I’d ask him to give me my prosthetics. That way, with those arms…

…I’d be able to hug him back.