Post by chickenboys on Jun 21, 2008 15:20:23 GMT -5
Well, I just wanted another opinion (changes?) before I hand this in as a final piece. Basically this is an autobiographical piece but also uses different techniques (i.e sentence structure etc.) I have already handed one draft in and this will be the second draft (first draft was 26/27... this time it will be 27/27 - I hope 
)
Well without further ado, here it is...hope you enjoy it!
A cold chill ran though my fingers as I touched the latch of the gate. The gate had once stood proud and new but now it was indifferent to the threatening clouds overhead. A thunderous roar echoed in the air, abolishing the silence as cold rained from the sky in a faint pitter-patter. The gate opened with an unpleasant creak, a sound of warning and a sense of urgency that erupted from the single scream of the aged hinges. I clutched my book harder; contemplating the rough leathery spine; running my fingers through the aged yellow pages. The salty smell of the sea lingered in the air like poison; drifting amongst the old weathered graves and wafting through the dark and dying grass. A pair of stone gargoyles stood menacingly above the over the solid wooden doors, their malicious eyes beaming at me, watching me. I glanced towards a nearby grave looking desperately for comfort. A bright bunch of flowers encased in a cone of paper lay beneath the stone on top of a mound of stale, pungent soil. The colours flowed majestically from the golden petals, dispelling the sense of death that thickly clouded the air, but the happiness could only travel so far until it too was engulfed in the sickly thick cloud.
The double doors grew ever closer as I edged towards them, observing the intricate patterns engraved with precision onto the solid oak wood; observing the story hidden over years of moss. I gentle pushed the doors whilst a noisy howl ricocheted against the decrepit stone walls, cutting the silence like a hot knife to butter and coupled with a musty smell like that of antediluvian fireplace, the atmosphere in the room held nothing but menace. A melancholic rumble rippled the air; the dismal clusters of sounds sounded so detached and ever so familiar, with the gentle and beautiful but minor sounds weaving in and out of each other like the smoke off a candle.
I casually walked down the surprisingly brightly lit corridor where the sustained harmonies rattled the air, biding my time, admiring the way the rain fell to the ground like spiders’ webs. Slowly, I opened the door as the music leaped out of the thin slit, now pounding ever louder. The ramblings grew louder as the rhythm grew ever faster, faster, faster. The music stopped. A strange and unearthly silence filled my ears, a silence that seemed to last much longer than the true mere seconds. The silence seemed to grab hold of my body, my senses; unable to move, helpless. A feint tapping slit the silence as the noise ascended into a crescendo of applause; the noise was overwhelming like a hundred drums beating in attempted unison only resulting in an unpleasant clutter of noise that seemed as together as the raindrops that fell to the ground. I became suddenly aware of my surroundings. I realised that I was still holding the handle of the door, still cold in my hands, and my breath was hard. With one last push the door swayed open.
Inside people sat in leathery chairs. Worn with age and neglect and the wooden floor, dusty, scratched, split. Strips of yellowed neon lights patched the darkened ceiling which in some parts were discoloured and cracked and the walls were no different. A single window, placed in the centre of the wall to the far left, was tightly shut, with only a single line of light shining through. Dust danced past the natural light only to disappear once more into the abyss of the discoloured lights. A piano stood in the corner of the room with obvious signs of age. The once dark mahogany brown was no more than a light beige coating which varied amongst the disfiguring splits upon the sustained elegance of the piano. Three discoloured legs strangely held a perplexing sense of beauty and even through the brass wheels where coated in a layer of light red rust, they still managed to emit a deep glamour.
I took a seat next to an old but mildly intimidating woman who wore a jet black coat that emanated an air of authority. A name was called out, the deep voice sounding out like a gong: strong, loud, captivating. A young boy no more than the age of eleven stood up and hastened to move down the aisle, eventually placing himself upon the withered piano. The boy then turned to face a man sitting behind a lavish looking table which held a sense of importance and age. The man gave a nod towards his general direction and the almost simultaneous the boys’ fingers wavered before striking down hard on the keys. The sound was harsh, cruel, solid, ringing out with waves of nervousness and haste; ploughing through the endless blur of musical scores with not a single emotion projecting other than fear. The piece came to abrupt end as an unenthusiastic applause followed. Another name was called up as the ritual continued.
I closed my eyes, picturing how the disasters would unfurl during my performance. I played each note carefully within my mind as my fingers unconsciously followed, tapping my near-frozen legs, ignoring the outside world. With each note played, a new scenario would systematically play, each becoming more progressively more embarrassing and off than the last, each making me successively more nervous. I forced my eyes open, unable to bear the scrutiny of playing under the watchful eyes of the eagle eyed spectators but moreover playing under the frightening surveillance of the judge.
The judge then stood up, applause still echoing around him. The echoing gradually slowed to a halt as the man spoke. ‘Today’s performances have been of an incredibly high standard and I thank you all for attending.’ He turned to a small girl sitting nervously, who held her hands like a soft toy, before looking back into the watchful gaze of the audience.’ Of course we must congratulate all the young musicians here who have performed tremendously today and will hopefully go on to more such competitions.’ The judge then picked up a handful of papers as he read out a name. ‘Your performance was very well played. Bold and subtle but perhaps some more expression and a little more contrast in dynamics would have improved your performance.’ For what seemed like an endless list of names was called out each being criticised with the same intensity and read out with bluntness and lost enthusiasm. Eventually with a little more enthusiasm and variation in tone he announced the winner as applause erupted along with a few minor comments. A young sweet girl stood from her chair as she accepted the certificate and the medal with a stern face and almost a hint of depression. A second name was read out but this time a smaller and more innocent looking boy rose to greet the award as he held a wide and nearly disfiguring smile, seeming ecstatic with joy. ‘Now we shall continue to the Sonata Category after a short break.’ I held my breath for a while before breathing out, hoping that my nervousness would follow. Instead it grew inside me as I grew more and more frightened. I was next to play.
A large group of people hustled out of the door seeming eager to make their exit only to return minutes later with polystyrene cups in hand. As time progressed the room began to fill up gradually with people. Conversations echoed simultaneously throughout the hall until eventually the judge walked swiftly in with a mug clutched hard in his right hand. ‘Welcome back. Sorry to keep you all waiting. We shall now begin the Sonatas.’ The man returned to his seat with a surprisingly loud thud. The name was read out. My name.
I felt my legs grow weak as soon as I applied the slightest amount of force to heave myself up. Composedly I walked down the aisle, handing the open book to the judge in the process. A strong smell of cologne lingered in this part of the room and the room itself seemed brighter from this perspective. I turned to face the audience before seating myself down onto the leathery stool, making sure to face the blank wood above the piano keys in the process. The piano held ‘Steinway’ written in gold upon the piece of wood, perhaps the only aspect of it not to have faded in time. I turned again to face the judge, who in turn gave a nod of acknowledgement. I turned round one last time, positioning my fingers above the slender, bone white and obsidian keys. I reminded myself one last time of how I was to play this movement, and with one last breath I touched the first note.
The first chords echoed perfectly with each other followed by a sustained note that held in the air as though time had stopped and in turn the next hand joined in the motion to create a brilliant crescendo. I felt as through the weight of nervousness that bore on my shoulders had been lifted, evaporated along with the sheer vibrancy of the grand piano. I closed my eyes, contemplating the sweet sounds that echoed to my greatest satisfaction; the cheerful notes momentarily abolishing all my unpleasant thoughts and feelings. I lost sense of time as my fingers floated along the keys, touching each one with a distinct emotion. My fingers lifted off the piano as I sustained the purposeful silence. I touched softly on the piano with grace yet with profound vigour to create a mysterious tone, echoing amongst the dimness of the room. I recalled upon the earlier emotions running through me, channelling them into my fingers to create tunes filled with dramatic emotion. The climax of the piece was drawing near. I prepared myself, starting with a sound little more than a pin dropping and then becoming increasingly louder until noise rang out with colour and vigour. Noise fluctuated and ricocheted wildly in the ageing room, the sounds harshly vibrating the chairs, the ceiling. Then suddenly quiet. I readjusted my fingers before producing a sweet reoccurrence of the beginning of the piece but this time, hidden below the sweet flutter of notes, a solemn and mysterious tune played silently yet at the same time the tune rang out with pride and vigour. The hidden sounds played louder and louder whilst the sweet embellishment of the notes sustained its embellishment. Both tunes intertwined uncontrollably together until the piece ended with an echoing chord. I stood and bowed as applauses of varying enthusiasm flew from around me. I took my seat next to the expressionless woman and began the more painful wait.
I closed my eyes and let my imagination drift as I waited impatiently, impassively. Eventually, after the numerous pieces had been played to varying degrees of standard, difficulty and expression, the judge once again stood up and announced his congratulatory speech which droned on and on. After a speech of dramatically increased length, the man continued with the procession. The name was read out and my heart sank like a stone. I had not grasped second place which to me seemed all I could ever possibly manage. Envy bubbled inside me as the girl, frivolous with joy, nearly pranced to collect her prize. The silence seemed to last forever waiting for the last name to be called out. A mumble was called out. I opened my eyes to see the winner of the group. The name was called out again; this time however, my ears adjusted to every sound. The name was my name. I stood up, astonished and unable to speak. I clumsily attempted to compose myself as I strode down the aisle but this time being greeted by a smiling face.’ Congratulations in winning your group.’ The man shook my hand before retuning to his table to collect the certificate and medal. I held them both tight in my hands as I returned to my seat, happiness bubbling inside me like a child waiting for his first Christmas. I looked down at the medal, smiled and closed my eyes.
)Well without further ado, here it is...hope you enjoy it!
A cold chill ran though my fingers as I touched the latch of the gate. The gate had once stood proud and new but now it was indifferent to the threatening clouds overhead. A thunderous roar echoed in the air, abolishing the silence as cold rained from the sky in a faint pitter-patter. The gate opened with an unpleasant creak, a sound of warning and a sense of urgency that erupted from the single scream of the aged hinges. I clutched my book harder; contemplating the rough leathery spine; running my fingers through the aged yellow pages. The salty smell of the sea lingered in the air like poison; drifting amongst the old weathered graves and wafting through the dark and dying grass. A pair of stone gargoyles stood menacingly above the over the solid wooden doors, their malicious eyes beaming at me, watching me. I glanced towards a nearby grave looking desperately for comfort. A bright bunch of flowers encased in a cone of paper lay beneath the stone on top of a mound of stale, pungent soil. The colours flowed majestically from the golden petals, dispelling the sense of death that thickly clouded the air, but the happiness could only travel so far until it too was engulfed in the sickly thick cloud.
The double doors grew ever closer as I edged towards them, observing the intricate patterns engraved with precision onto the solid oak wood; observing the story hidden over years of moss. I gentle pushed the doors whilst a noisy howl ricocheted against the decrepit stone walls, cutting the silence like a hot knife to butter and coupled with a musty smell like that of antediluvian fireplace, the atmosphere in the room held nothing but menace. A melancholic rumble rippled the air; the dismal clusters of sounds sounded so detached and ever so familiar, with the gentle and beautiful but minor sounds weaving in and out of each other like the smoke off a candle.
I casually walked down the surprisingly brightly lit corridor where the sustained harmonies rattled the air, biding my time, admiring the way the rain fell to the ground like spiders’ webs. Slowly, I opened the door as the music leaped out of the thin slit, now pounding ever louder. The ramblings grew louder as the rhythm grew ever faster, faster, faster. The music stopped. A strange and unearthly silence filled my ears, a silence that seemed to last much longer than the true mere seconds. The silence seemed to grab hold of my body, my senses; unable to move, helpless. A feint tapping slit the silence as the noise ascended into a crescendo of applause; the noise was overwhelming like a hundred drums beating in attempted unison only resulting in an unpleasant clutter of noise that seemed as together as the raindrops that fell to the ground. I became suddenly aware of my surroundings. I realised that I was still holding the handle of the door, still cold in my hands, and my breath was hard. With one last push the door swayed open.
Inside people sat in leathery chairs. Worn with age and neglect and the wooden floor, dusty, scratched, split. Strips of yellowed neon lights patched the darkened ceiling which in some parts were discoloured and cracked and the walls were no different. A single window, placed in the centre of the wall to the far left, was tightly shut, with only a single line of light shining through. Dust danced past the natural light only to disappear once more into the abyss of the discoloured lights. A piano stood in the corner of the room with obvious signs of age. The once dark mahogany brown was no more than a light beige coating which varied amongst the disfiguring splits upon the sustained elegance of the piano. Three discoloured legs strangely held a perplexing sense of beauty and even through the brass wheels where coated in a layer of light red rust, they still managed to emit a deep glamour.
I took a seat next to an old but mildly intimidating woman who wore a jet black coat that emanated an air of authority. A name was called out, the deep voice sounding out like a gong: strong, loud, captivating. A young boy no more than the age of eleven stood up and hastened to move down the aisle, eventually placing himself upon the withered piano. The boy then turned to face a man sitting behind a lavish looking table which held a sense of importance and age. The man gave a nod towards his general direction and the almost simultaneous the boys’ fingers wavered before striking down hard on the keys. The sound was harsh, cruel, solid, ringing out with waves of nervousness and haste; ploughing through the endless blur of musical scores with not a single emotion projecting other than fear. The piece came to abrupt end as an unenthusiastic applause followed. Another name was called up as the ritual continued.
I closed my eyes, picturing how the disasters would unfurl during my performance. I played each note carefully within my mind as my fingers unconsciously followed, tapping my near-frozen legs, ignoring the outside world. With each note played, a new scenario would systematically play, each becoming more progressively more embarrassing and off than the last, each making me successively more nervous. I forced my eyes open, unable to bear the scrutiny of playing under the watchful eyes of the eagle eyed spectators but moreover playing under the frightening surveillance of the judge.
The judge then stood up, applause still echoing around him. The echoing gradually slowed to a halt as the man spoke. ‘Today’s performances have been of an incredibly high standard and I thank you all for attending.’ He turned to a small girl sitting nervously, who held her hands like a soft toy, before looking back into the watchful gaze of the audience.’ Of course we must congratulate all the young musicians here who have performed tremendously today and will hopefully go on to more such competitions.’ The judge then picked up a handful of papers as he read out a name. ‘Your performance was very well played. Bold and subtle but perhaps some more expression and a little more contrast in dynamics would have improved your performance.’ For what seemed like an endless list of names was called out each being criticised with the same intensity and read out with bluntness and lost enthusiasm. Eventually with a little more enthusiasm and variation in tone he announced the winner as applause erupted along with a few minor comments. A young sweet girl stood from her chair as she accepted the certificate and the medal with a stern face and almost a hint of depression. A second name was read out but this time a smaller and more innocent looking boy rose to greet the award as he held a wide and nearly disfiguring smile, seeming ecstatic with joy. ‘Now we shall continue to the Sonata Category after a short break.’ I held my breath for a while before breathing out, hoping that my nervousness would follow. Instead it grew inside me as I grew more and more frightened. I was next to play.
A large group of people hustled out of the door seeming eager to make their exit only to return minutes later with polystyrene cups in hand. As time progressed the room began to fill up gradually with people. Conversations echoed simultaneously throughout the hall until eventually the judge walked swiftly in with a mug clutched hard in his right hand. ‘Welcome back. Sorry to keep you all waiting. We shall now begin the Sonatas.’ The man returned to his seat with a surprisingly loud thud. The name was read out. My name.
I felt my legs grow weak as soon as I applied the slightest amount of force to heave myself up. Composedly I walked down the aisle, handing the open book to the judge in the process. A strong smell of cologne lingered in this part of the room and the room itself seemed brighter from this perspective. I turned to face the audience before seating myself down onto the leathery stool, making sure to face the blank wood above the piano keys in the process. The piano held ‘Steinway’ written in gold upon the piece of wood, perhaps the only aspect of it not to have faded in time. I turned again to face the judge, who in turn gave a nod of acknowledgement. I turned round one last time, positioning my fingers above the slender, bone white and obsidian keys. I reminded myself one last time of how I was to play this movement, and with one last breath I touched the first note.
The first chords echoed perfectly with each other followed by a sustained note that held in the air as though time had stopped and in turn the next hand joined in the motion to create a brilliant crescendo. I felt as through the weight of nervousness that bore on my shoulders had been lifted, evaporated along with the sheer vibrancy of the grand piano. I closed my eyes, contemplating the sweet sounds that echoed to my greatest satisfaction; the cheerful notes momentarily abolishing all my unpleasant thoughts and feelings. I lost sense of time as my fingers floated along the keys, touching each one with a distinct emotion. My fingers lifted off the piano as I sustained the purposeful silence. I touched softly on the piano with grace yet with profound vigour to create a mysterious tone, echoing amongst the dimness of the room. I recalled upon the earlier emotions running through me, channelling them into my fingers to create tunes filled with dramatic emotion. The climax of the piece was drawing near. I prepared myself, starting with a sound little more than a pin dropping and then becoming increasingly louder until noise rang out with colour and vigour. Noise fluctuated and ricocheted wildly in the ageing room, the sounds harshly vibrating the chairs, the ceiling. Then suddenly quiet. I readjusted my fingers before producing a sweet reoccurrence of the beginning of the piece but this time, hidden below the sweet flutter of notes, a solemn and mysterious tune played silently yet at the same time the tune rang out with pride and vigour. The hidden sounds played louder and louder whilst the sweet embellishment of the notes sustained its embellishment. Both tunes intertwined uncontrollably together until the piece ended with an echoing chord. I stood and bowed as applauses of varying enthusiasm flew from around me. I took my seat next to the expressionless woman and began the more painful wait.
I closed my eyes and let my imagination drift as I waited impatiently, impassively. Eventually, after the numerous pieces had been played to varying degrees of standard, difficulty and expression, the judge once again stood up and announced his congratulatory speech which droned on and on. After a speech of dramatically increased length, the man continued with the procession. The name was read out and my heart sank like a stone. I had not grasped second place which to me seemed all I could ever possibly manage. Envy bubbled inside me as the girl, frivolous with joy, nearly pranced to collect her prize. The silence seemed to last forever waiting for the last name to be called out. A mumble was called out. I opened my eyes to see the winner of the group. The name was called out again; this time however, my ears adjusted to every sound. The name was my name. I stood up, astonished and unable to speak. I clumsily attempted to compose myself as I strode down the aisle but this time being greeted by a smiling face.’ Congratulations in winning your group.’ The man shook my hand before retuning to his table to collect the certificate and medal. I held them both tight in my hands as I returned to my seat, happiness bubbling inside me like a child waiting for his first Christmas. I looked down at the medal, smiled and closed my eyes.
(fortunately) and I got 27/27. Well so far in my coursework folder, every piece is full marks