🚀 go-pugleaf

...and looks around. The vastness of the hall is only superceeded by it's
loneliness. It's bright white paint made brilliant by the patches of sun
breaking through the heavy cloud cover. Instruments lie strewn around the stage
floor, where a gentle drizzle has puddled water around them. Empty seats face
the stage, where crowds had once been, wildly cheering.

Jenn walks to the edge of the hall, hearing the memories of what had gone
before, fingerprints of another time on each flake of paint. The beginnings of
her creative growth. The days of University. The joys of community. 

Walking into the empty seating area, she feels every eye that looked on her.
Every person who created the celebrity she became. The respect, the
encouragement. Every person who had filled these seats ahd helped her become
what she needed to be.

The seat she chose overlooked the center of the lonely stage. The damp air and
smell of wet earth brought back memories of people who she could call friends.
Ficus. Alex. Bo. Anna. Jonin. Midnight. ]{ombat. Oudom. Even Trash and Gumbo.
The conversations, ideas, thoughts flowed through her head as the wind flowed
through her hair.

The concert had been a long and wild one, befitting a last and final
preformance. The songs began slowly, and the crowd was not sure what to make of
the music. So different, yet familiar. With time, the crowd enjoyed the music,
sang along to the tunes, swayed to the rythms. All in harmony to the singer.
The music played on for hours.

And now, on the stage lie discarded instruments, left to soak in the drizzle of
the early morning. Walking through the morning mists, Jenn feels every touch of
moisture on her cheek, each one a memory of days gone past, each one a memory
of family who never met her. Maybe it was the drizzle that ran down her cheek.
Maybe it was the realization that this was her last concert preformance.

Jenn played a few keys on the piano...the tones pure and soft in the heavy air.
The piano still had a tune in it. But the music it would play would no longer
be hers. Leave it for the next person, she thought.

She stood where last night a microphone stand had been...now only a damp
depression in the floor. And she looked around one last time...at the faded
ghosts of the people in those seats. At the backup band that played. At the
support personnel, and even the hecklers.

And, in a deep and graceful arc, she bowed to them. For every one who made it
possible for her to sing. For everyone who wanted to hear her voice. For
everyone who made this concert the success it had been

A whisper escaped Jenn's lips. A whisper that only those ghosts could see. A
silent echo that reverberated around the hall.

"Thank You."

Jenn
Not All Warriors Are Called "Sir!"
http://www.dolari.org - je...@dolari.org