She scratches the surface of a white leaf with the tip of her pencil. Her strokes are even, but they fall in a manner of rage and leave scars tearing through the clearest white. Her saddened eyes examine the masterpiece. It’s a black scribbled mess in a rainbow frame. Quivering fingers scrawl a signature in the corner. Her emotion has flooded through her hands… and now her heart is drawn on paper. Any spectator would never understand the marvelous piece, yet admire it… it is a lost secret, only understood by the master herself. Through the eyes of another, the blackened paper with the harsh lashes of a lead pencil is only untamed blotches. But through the heart of the author, it is her emotions in a portrait… it’s an image of her ambiance. Through the black now squiggly lines…tears fall; they have stained the surface, leaving smears within its beauty. The smudged figures and shapes have an appearance of her character… they are now a part of her.
Her fingers gracefully crossed the black and white keys with a familiar touch. As each finger found its place she closed her eyes and pressed with a soft interest. It began as a melody, but as she climbed the piano it grew to a chorus of rage. The impact overwhelmed her with a wave of miscellaneous emotion. She embraced it, and became one with the surge of anger as her whole body swayed in the music. She did not have to try, nor think, her fingers played by memory the dark passion which forced itself through her arms. The beautiful but violent composition gave a saddening effect that only she understood. It was an uncontrollable sensation as she calmly, but forcefully pushed each note. Her feelings of despair were washed from her heart through the shrill intensity of the screaming piano. And then it ended. An echo swept through the abrupt silence to leave a dreary stillness. The masterpiece was finished.