Deep breath.
Then step into my box of home, a place of trial and triumph; emotion and peace; confusion and clarity. I roll wood in my hand, the smooth grain slipping through my palms. Flipping one, I watch an oblong shape spinning through the air, up and up forever. Down it falls, smacking my hand with a clap! and filling me with satisfaction.
I sit on a stool and spin once to one side, twice to the other, blowing air through dry lips. My knees bounce, ankles rolling, as adrenaline pumps through my veins. My fingertips tingle and my hands shake, eager to begin. I poise my sticks in midair, ready to smash through the air like lightning upon thunder.
First, I close my eyes, breathing in the smell of the moment, a second in eternity.
Then my wrists flick and my elbows bend, and sound escapes my box of home. Pounding, pounding, pounding my leg ever bounces with rhythm, keeping my feet down to earth while I let my hands guide my head to the clouds. A symphony of collision, bumps! and bangs! turned into my masterpiece. Clangs! and crashes! turned into a cherry atop my sundae.
My planets spin around me, willingly giving themselves up to be played by me. White and worn they are, ever loved, sometimes hated, by the master I make myself to be. Great and small are their size, some tight and others looser, rimmed in silver and pockmarked. My most prized possessions, my captives, my priceless beauty. Once, they looked down upon me, pushing me to be so much more than I was. How naïve I was—to think I was worthy of such honor as to be in the presence of such things. At one time they were better than I. Yet now I have conquered them, and I am their king. I owe that debt to them.
And as I beat! upon my planets, feeling the sound waves reverberate in circles into each other, I hold the universe in my hands. Time and space cannot limit me. I control the powers of this place, bending reality and reshaping realms. Power, power, oh, so much power flows through this wood of mine. My eyes closed, I see the world once for what it really is, unlocking the secrets of the sky. I need not fly through blue sky when I am in my box of home. I need not touch the sun, or taste a cloud, or feel the moon upon my face. My own realm—here—gives me all I could ever want. I have learnt it by heart, it is engraved upon my skin. Perfection is within my grasp.
With a flourish and a heave! of breath, my song has ended—never dead, just silent. No outsider knows what happens within my box of home. They hear it from the stands, from the stage, yet how can they truly know, without your body melting away until all that is left is the beat of your heart in beat with the music? They may never know the true beauty of what happens through these see-through walls. Eyes they have to see, but can they feel it? Never. Once I wished for them to experience this joy, but now I have accepted that it is mine, a trophy to carry and a burden to bear. I am to be the keeper of this place, my box of home.
Out of breath and covered in sweat, I get up and walk away.
Waiting to beat again.
Word Count: 593
This is supposed to be from the perspective of a drum player. I've don't actually play drums, I got this idea when I watched a friend's live service and there was a drum player. I hope you like it!
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