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Old 07-09-2012, 05:39 PM   #3 (permalink)

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Join Date: Oct 2011
Location: Up the Faraway Tree
Posts: 2,588

Hogwarts RPG Name:
Sarah Edwards


Ministry RPG Name:
Abigail Bella Goodman
Minister's Office
Gryffinclaw-Ravendor The REAL Hermione Granger

For Each A Key
By Sarah Edwards

I was having an awful day that day. I sat by the brook at the edge of our farm and watched the fish swim playfully in the cool waters. “Why am I unique? Why am I special? In whose life do I make a difference,” wondered I. Salty tears cascaded down my cheeks, yet the brook did not respond. I began feeling sorry for myself, dipping into despair. Sobs wrecked my body, my shoulders quacked with emotion. This is where my mother found me.

Her fingers stroking my back made me aware of her presence; I had not noticed her shadow or sound. I jumped out of my skin at her touch. “Sarah,” she said in a gentle motherly voice, “What woes you so?” (my mother and I sometimes speak in that way to another, both linguistic geeks, our vocabulary comes straight out of books). I stifled a sob and wiped my tears on the sleeve of my simple blue-checked frock. I hiccupped and began to tell her what saddened and worried me. When I was finish there was silence for a while, my mother gazing ahead at the calming brook, gathering her thoughts. “Sarah,” she began, “I cannot disagree with you more - you mean the world to Father and me. Do you know how much we will miss you when you are away at Hogwarts?”

“Parents are meant to love their children unconditionally,” retorted I.

“But your brothers love you and protect you underneath their tough exterior. They want to feel that they are strong men, strong with their emotions, yet inside their heart they love you more than they can express,” she said.

“Fine, they are family, but outside the family I am no one,” I replied.

“No, Sarah, you are getting this all wrong. Let us say you forgot to feed the chickens or horses or milk the cows, would they not need you?” she said again.

“But they are animals; animals are not humans," I protested. My mother sighed, she got up, dusted the dust off her apron and said, “Come Sarah, I have something to show you.” She picked me up and put her arm around my shoulders and I grudgingly followed her into the house.

She and I walked into the living room, where my mother headed directly towards the mahogany piano that stood proudly in the corner. She then did something she had never done before, she opened the back of the piano – something she had once reproached my brothers for doing. She indicated that I come look; I stood on the piano chair and gazed inside. Inside were hammers and strings, one for each piano key. I looked at her quizzically. “Sarah,” she said, “What is the difference between the amount of keys on the piano and the amount of strings on my violin,” she said taking out her violin from its case. I counted the strings on the violin, there were four strings, I then counted the keys on the piano 1,2,3,4….75,76…81,82,83,84,85,86,87,88. “There are Eighty eight keys on our piano and four strings on a violin. The piano has much more keys/strings then a violin,” I said.

My mother nodded and began to play a beautiful piece on the piano using keys from each end of the pitch spectrum; she then brought her violin to her chin and played the same song. “The music sounded different,” I observed. My mother smiled. “See, Sarah, there is music played on the piano that cannot always be achieved on the violin, as the piano has more keys. Each key on the piano contributes its own unique sound, producing a beautiful blend of song. Can the music on a piano be achieved with, let us say, 10 keys,” she asked. I shook my head. “Each key is important, the keys on the left cannot make the high pitched sound on the right and vice versa. This is what happens in a choir”. I nodded, this was interesting. Yet my mother had another trick up her sleeve.

She headed for the stairwell, indicating that I follow her. I numbly did so, her message still absorbing into my mind. Together the two of us climbed the stairs past the landing of our house and finally reached the top –the attic. The attic was for storage, mainly of family heirlooms and items. “Alohomora” my mother cast on the door and it opened. It was dark and musty in here, yet my mother took out her wand and said “Lumos”. The light from her wand lit up the room. There were boxes, chests and trunks of all different sizes, as well as some old furniture. My mother headed for a mahogany chest that was against the wall. She cast, “Cistem Aperio” and the lid opened, revealing some musty old objects. My mother groped around it and pulled out a Muggle typewriter. “This belonged to my great-grandfather, also a writer,” she said softly, dusting off some dust. I watched in wonder as she loaded paper and ensured that there was ink. She typed the following letter to me.

This typXwritXr your grXat-grXat Grand fathXr usXd until it workXd no longXr –thX lXttXr ‘X’ fXll off. Without it hX could not writX out his articlXs and storiXs as thX lXttXr ‘X’ was so important. So too with you Sarah, you arX likX thX lXttXr ‘X’, without you thX world can’t Xxist.
Merlin, I looked down, indeed the letter ‘E’ was missing. I smiled at my mother. I was indeed very important.

Last edited by Cassirin; 08-04-2012 at 12:57 AM.
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