It all looks so picturesque. The oak trees that dot the city. The buildings seem to hold their own history. Everything so neat, so perfect. I know the true story behind this perfect picture. The smell of blood and alcohol mix with the smell of the humid perfumed air.
It was 1920, the world seemed to be trying to grab life before it slipped away. She was the most beautiful creature God ever thought up. She flouted between the oaks like a dancer, her golden hair and pale complexion gave her the appearance of a ghost. She was attending the university as a music and theater major, an angel among demons. Sylvia Reynolds. Born 1901 to two proud cane farmers. An angel, a wonder, a lover, my world. Died March 8th 1920 only 19 years old. Slaughtered on the very stage that she stole my heart.
I was the ebony surrounded by ivory, only allowed to clean after others. From my worn work boots to my dreaded hair, I didn’t belong. And yet she didn’t mind. I was working late one night, cleaning up the auditorium after the theater department’s première of Les Miserable. I wasn’t even half way done with picking up the trash the audience left behind when she came upon the stage. Her bare footsteps were heavy from growing up as a farmer’s daughter. I turned to see and she smiled at me. Without warning she began to sing. Her voice was so pure I had stopped everything just to listen. The glorious music stopped and she giggled running off, returning with a script. “Come here, little finch. Come sing with me.” Her voice echoed through the auditorium. I spun my head, looking for someone else, even though I knew I was the only other one around. “Don’t be scared little finch, I bet your song is beautiful.” Sylvia said smiling. Hesitating, I dropped my trash bag and scrambled up to the stage, joining her. “My name is Sylvia Reynolds. I’ve noticed you for a long time now. What is your name?” I blushed like a fool and looked down at the script. “Brianna Lareaux.” I replied with a small squeak. “I beg your pardon miss but I can’t read.” Sylvia smiled and leaned towards me brushing my hair behind my ear. “Mrs. Brianna Lareaux you are gorgeous and I shall teach you this song, no reading needed .” She was so close to me that my heart had leapt into my throat. I began to blush and then it happened. She touched my chin softly with her hand and our lips touched for the first time. It seemed to last forever. She taught me a song called The Confrontation. All I remember of the song is the first line. “Valjean, at last, we see each other plain.” We saw each other plain and it was perfection.
After that night I didn’t see Sylvia again for weeks. It was torturous, but we found our way back to each other again. We couldn’t be seen talking, let alone kissing, or I would be fired and she would be kicked from the university. We found ways though. I started to make her home my own, embracing each other in the night, and rumors had begun.
It was one year after that faithful night in the theater. She was playing a nun in the newest play. After the performance they came. I tried to protect her but one of the men broke a whiskey bottle over my head. I woke up to find my angel dead in a pool of blood. The smell of alcohol and blood drifted in the air. A note laid beside my angel’s head that read ‘Burn in hell, abomination.’ The police shrugged in off, calling it a robbery gone horribly wrong.
We had loved with a love that was more than love. I alone see the illusion slipping, the demons that roam the streets of this once beautiful city.
For my love, for my Sylvia, I live on.
I live on.
Yep it probably sucks but that's what I get for writing while half asleep. Based upon nothing real, I hope. The fable of life is thinking tv isn't a distraction. Peace.