Storytelling prog. metal

Act IV - Presage

Middle of March 1996: 26.000 feet over the Atlantic Ocean. Diana is seated on a plane of the Air Canada; in less than four hours she will be in Quebec, on her way back home. With fixed engrossed look and wandering mind, she recollects the amazing moments spent in Paris with Peter. Time has run so fast in the last few days, but these wondrous memories are there, unforgettable in her mind. Despite her will, she could not stay there to watch the so aspired show of the New England Piano Academy at the theater Opera. However, Peter’s career is always so important to her: she just want what’s best for him and she perfectly knows the premiere at the Opera will definitely be the most important performance of her intended. Diana orders a drink; normally she is not used to drink alcohol, but a weird disquieting sensation is being pervading her during the last few hours… it may be that stream of emotions shared with Peter in the previous days… or, perhaps, just weariness. But actually she is not so tired, at least not to close her eyes and try to get some sleep. Hence, the young lady grabs her bag and picks out the book she left half unread just before arriving in Paris. Gently she opens the intriguing novel, entitled Flux de la Coscience, at page 54, starting a new chapter: Le silence d’un corbeau.
prsage

Meanwhile, another working day has just finished for Peter, who tomorrow will perform for the first Time at the famous Opera de Paris with his crew. The pressure is high, anxiety seems to be under control, but the expectations of the public are so damned huge. At 11.00 o’clock pm, he enters his elegant hotel room. So many emotions since when he arrived in Paris. Exhausted, under stress and with a sort of sad melancholic expression on his face, Peter drops the manila folder containing all his music sheet for the show down on the Napoleonic armchair of his room. A long breath. Subsequently, he drags his feet to the nightstand; right there, he rotates the small ratchet lever of his hand-wound music box until the full charge and then lets himself fall on his queen bed, with open arms and eyes staring at the ceiling. Before the beautiful and relaxing melody could finish, Peter drifts away into a deep and dream-filled slumber. His mind flies, lingering on thousands of sketches and images, faces and objects, memories and places. Eventually, he gets thrown into a few specific memories. The young musician finds himself on his way back home, precisely on that so familiar stone path in the wood that he walked through for so many years, actually every single day of winter, spring, summer or fall, most of the times coming back from his academy. But it is not the stone path the gist of his dream, nor his house. Rather, it is a disquieting creature who perches on the spire of a wrought iron gate at the left side of the path and stares at Peter with distressing gaze and crimson eyes: a silent raven.

Silent Raven

[Peter Light]:
       
Winter Time’s moonlight
Through bare boughs
Reclines on the ground
Whiteness around
The softest sleet is pouring down
Veiling bare trees

Northern winds biting
The dusk slowly swallows the light
Long winter nights
An old crumbled stone wall rests in white
Virginity


But all of a sudden black feathers emerge
From shadows. Red eyes of a crow
A raven perched on a spire beholds me
I stall, hesitate and withdraw


Silent raven in the sky
Lurking outside, it overflies
Silent raven gazing me
I’m wondering why, I’m wondering why


Summer Time’s starlight
Is radiating the dewdrops on blades
Brightening the shades
Smell of the southern breeze pervades
The pure dormant lawns

Overgrown meadows
The deepest peace is coiling the night
Heavenly sight
Rambling fireflies permeate the quiet
Cause winter is gone


But all of a sudden black feathers emerge
From shadows. Red eyes of a crow
That gaze so familiar awakens in me
A far soothed terror and awe


Silent raven in the sky
Lurking outside, it overflies
Silent raven gazing me
I’m wondering why, I’m wondering why

Silent raven in the sky
Lurking outside, it overflies
Silent raven gazing me
I’m charmed and terrified by thee

Silent raven reminds me
That Time goes on
And days are gone


That day I did realize:
Death waits for every man
Observing you in each trice
Like that lurking raven

Seize each day of your life
As if it were your last one
Face head-on every strife
Never leave things undone

Occasionally think
And ponder on your past
All things fade in a blink
Nothing forever lasts


Gone
Days are gone
Life is terribly short

Time goes on
Those days are gone
Cause life is terribly short

The pitch-black feathered creature gazes Peter one more Time; as soon as that silent raven opens its pointed beak, a strident caw of a ringing telephone blares out, far in the distance. Peter awakes panting, overwhelmed by bemusement and panic. His room telephone rings, on and on… incessantly… persistently. Marked and heavy heartbeats pound loud in his head, while his vision is still lazy and blurry. The little musician on the music box is there, motionless: he plays no more his piano. Peter heavily drops his hand over the receiver and picks up the phone. On the other side, a neat and firm male voice with a Canadian French accent: «Mr. Peter Light? Here is Quebec City’s Centre Hospitalier de l’Université Laval… excuse us, you must urgently come here… we have some very bad news for you sir».

TO BE CONTINUED…
frozen.sandband@gmail.com