Inuyasha | Rhapsody in Eight Movements

[luxken27fics]

Title: Rhapsody in Eight Movements
Author: LuxKen27
Fandom: Inuyasha
Universe: Alternate (modern day Japan)
Genre: Mystery, Suspense
Rating: T
Warning(s): Mentions of death, the treatment of mental illnesses
Summary: When a mysterious man washes ashore on Halloween night, it becomes a race against time to uncover his identity – and the circumstances that left him there.

Author’s Note: Further author's notes for this story can be found here.


I remember…

I’ve always had an affinity for the sea. I was three the first time I saw it, the sparkling waters of the ocean just beyond the white-sand surf of the Riviera. It was a beautiful deep cerulean blue, so enchanting, so inviting. I could see straight through its clear, glassy depths from my perch in my father’s arms, and I wanted nothing more than to touch it, to feel its crisp coolness against my skin.

I remember…

…always feeling the calmest whenever I was near the sea. Mediterranean, Caspian, Crimean; Chinese, Japanese, Indian, Arctic – it didn’t matter. The seductive siren’s call of the ocean was always the same: enthralling, bewitching, and yet – calming, the steady rise and fall of the surf as it crested into waves, sweeping forward to meet the shore.

I loved the water.

That’s why they took me away from it.

I remember…

…the first time I perched upon a piano bench, staring down the expanse of black and white keys in utter fascination. The moment I laid my hands upon them, striking a chord I didn’t even realize was perfect, I felt it: like I belonged. Like I’d found my purpose in life, and at all of five years old. Something within me immediately resonated with the sounds made by my fingers on those keys, an immediate, intimate connection that went straight to my soul.

I loved it. I couldn’t get enough of it. I’d play until my hands ached, until my fingers bled, until I had to be dragged away by force, kicking and screaming all the while. From the moment I awoke each morning until to the moment I went to bed each evening, all I wanted to do was play at the piano.

I remember…

…the feeling of the music inside me, natural and free and wild, and the way it seemed to blossom under my fingertips. It was a part of me, as innate as breathing, bursting forth almost of its own volition. I couldn’t stop it, even if I’d wanted to – and I didn’t. It was my power, my confidence, my confidant. It was the place where I could go to escape the chaos around me, the stress and strain of my parents’ lives and our constant moving.

I loved my music.

That’s why they took it away from me.

I remember…

…digging in my heels when they shipped me off to that conservatory, not wanting to lose what was so very precious to me. I lost it anyway, as the grand tradition of the Western classical canon was forced upon me. It tempted me, yes, and it challenged me, shaping my natural talent into something conventional, something exploitable – but it also stifled me, silencing my music, my voice, my very sense of self.

They praised me and fawned over me and boasted about my seemingly effortless ability to memorize so many difficult works, but to me, it was simply madness, a clone of my being that felt entirely foreign and invasive.

They encouraged it, because that’s what they wanted.

But not me. I didn’t want it.

I remember…

…the encroachment of this madness, the demands it put on my time, my energy, my focus. It smothered me and the wildness within me, until my inner refuge – the music that had soothed me for the entirety of my life – had withered away into silence. All that was left was the madness, the empty, meaningless madness, and it filled me up like a vacant vessel, because that’s all I was: a shell of myself.

I had been beaten, broken, defeated.

I remember…

…standing on the edge of the cliff in Sochi, looking down into the murky waters below; the bite of the salty sea air on my face, against my skin, tangling through my hair. The sun was setting just beyond the horizon, casting an eerie orange glow towards me across the calm, glassy, unwavering ocean.

It wasn’t the first time I’d heard the sea’s siren call, beckoning me down into its depths, but it was the first time I’d been tempted to give in to it, if only to escape the madness that had taken up residence in my brain. Part of me wanted to dismiss it, to keep fighting for myself, to cling to the notion that I could find serenity again. Music was music, no? Isn’t that what they kept telling me? Just keep playing, and playing, and playing, and playing, and maybe, one day, you’ll be invited to compose your own masterpiece.

Maybe…

…but I couldn’t fight it forever. The tour took us to every seaside resort on every coast, playing evening concerts in the warm, balmy air. Every stop was an enticement, every moment I spent near the sea was another moment of crumbling resolve.

I’m sinking to the bottom of my everything that freaks me out
I remember…

…the yacht we took, from Bali to Tokyo, a leisurely cruise between two resorts. I was standing at the bow, alone, my hands gripping the railing, my eyes focused on the water below. I could smell the storm in the air, I could see the restless, choppy waves beginning to form…

Let the rain of what I feel right now come down
…I could hear the seductive call of the sea…

Let the waves come up and take me down
…and I could feel the push of the madness inside me, taunting me, mocking me, terrorizing me.

I’m treading for my life, believe me – how can I keep up this breathing?
I just wanted it to end.

I wanted my music back – and, by extension, myself.

I had to do this. I had to break the hold the madness had over me. I had to rediscover myself, my passion, my purpose in this world.

I climbed up on the railing. I closed my eyes, hating the tears that slipped down my cheeks.

I’m reaching for the life within me – how can one man stop his ending?
I had to start over. This was the only way I knew how.

…into the ocean…end it all…

…into the ocean…end it all…

…into the ocean…end it all…

…into the ocean…end it all…

…into the ocean…end it all…

…into the ocean…end it all…

…into the ocean…end it all…

…
I remember waking up, only to realize that the madness was still there.

I hadn’t killed it – and it hadn’t killed me, either.

I despaired, heartbroken over the idea of having to live with this forever. I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to do it. I had to find another way out.

With escape as a failure, there was only one other option: confrontation. I had to face it, head-on, to banish it from my existence.

I had to purge it, one frustrating masterwork at a time, until there was nothing left but – me.

My music.

Myself.

…..

“Into the Ocean” © 2006 Justin Furstenfeld [Blue October]

Inspired by a true story.