LogFAQs > #911311040

The silhouette dissipates. You fall on your back, as though the wall was never there.

The floor disappears. Was there even a floor here?
It feels like you've been falling forever.

In your hand, you're holding a violin. It's been so long. You wonder if you still remember it.
You only ever remember one song--Canon in D. A song you always wanted to play at a wedding.

The whispers pervade your ears as the gentle chords of Canon sing out from the strings.

"You were doing so well in high school...what's going on with you now? Don't end up like your father." says the same voice of the woman from earlier. "Or you might die just like him, with no real dreams."

The silhouette returns, embracing you from behind.
You don't dare to look back. All you see are misty hands caressing your arms. You continue to play without acknowledging it.

The whispers start sounding like crackles. The sharp, crisp sound of skin being slapped echoes around you.

"I need to borrow money from you again...not like your job at the pizza place gives you much anyway..." she says again.

You wanted to shout back at her, to call her hypocritical when she herself isn't even employed.
But your voice refuses to work.

"I need more..."

You try to cover your ears, but your arms are being held in place by the hands, forcing you to continue to play.
The sound of bottles breaking rings out.

"I pawned off your violin. I needed more money...Alcohol isn't cheap, you know. It's the least you could do to show gratitude for the roof on your head."

You look up and see murky water drippling from drywall. She hasn't fixed that roof in years. It's always been leaking.

The murky water starts turning red; its consistency slowly shifting from something watery to something thicker.

It splashes on your wrist.

You finally hit the floor. You've always been on the floor. It's where you belong.
Sitting up, you look at your wrist again, curiously gazing at the red stain on your skin. Were you holding something earlier? You can't remember.
You slowly get to your feet, trying to keep your balance. You lean against the sink. Water refuses to come out. You gaze in the mirror as you aimlessly wait for any single drop to emerge.

You see yourself reflected. But you don't see you. This isn't you. You don't know what you are.

"Nobody loves ya...but y'know exactly where t'find it," says your own voice once again, with the mouth of the reflection moving, but not your own.

Suddenly, in your other hand, you're holding a knife with a shaky, but firm grip.

"Nobody will ever embrace ya...except th'cold touch o'steel."

You slowly bring your hand over to your other hand, still holding the dagger firmly.

"The knives will give ya what ya want. They can never disappoint ya."

You turn your free hand so that your palm's facing up.

Behind the mirror, you can see the fuzzy screen of an old TV flashing out in a dark room. The fuzziness clears up, and you see a familiar woman in a wedding dress. You refuse to acknowledge that woman.
The volume of the TV grows louder, with the dissonant sound of Canon ringing in your ears.

"Do you promise to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her for better or worse?" says the TV in unison with an unknown voice...coming from the knife.

You close your eyes and try to shut out what you're hearing, but the violins of Canon grow sharper and louder.

"...in sickness in health...be faithful to her...for as long as you both shall live?"

The violins stop. You open your eyes. The mirror still shows the TV. Except, that woman is there in person now, clinging onto the TV as she sobs.
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