She nodded and made her way into the corner of the lavish living room. She could see her sisters stiffen as she sat beside the fireplace, closest to her father. She felt safe when she was next to him, as if he could protect her from anything, even her sisters who ridiculed her for her slight stutter and quiet voice.
Her father’s songs always comforted her in a way that nothing else could. The timbre of his voice resonated throughout the entire room as his fingers danced on the vibrating strings of the wooden fingerboard. No matter how many songs he played to her and her sisters, Blaise always felt as if she was being serenaded by her father without any need to fight for his attention. And yet, her mind couldn’t move away from the her sisters’ reaction to her; they always managed to humiliate her, no matter how small of a mistake she made.
The thicket grew denser with underbrush as she ventured into the tangled heart of the forest. Around her, the air became humid with moisture, drowning in her lungs with each step closer to the triad of giant sequoia trees. The mandolin’s call grew stronger than ever, reverberating in the depths of her mind, stirring an unfamiliar feeling in the pits of her stomach. The volume crescendoed in the center of the trees, as if an ancient ritual had finally been unlocked. Blaise’s footsteps grew hesitant with each advance into what looked like a trap in the middle of the trees. The gravity seemed stronger there; its force pulled her into the earth. She fell into an earthy pit, and her heart suddenly sank as it had when her father had a heart attack.
She landed with a thud into the damp sinkhole. The memory of her father’s death flooded her mind, the agony causing her frail body to ache. She returned to her fetal position, her warmth radiating around her like a blanket as tears streamed from her swollen eyes. The fire’s wrath returned, causing her to reminisce. After her father died, each of Blaise’s married sisters moved away to their husbands’ respective manors. Being the blooming young maiden she was, Blaise was left with her father’s legacy without a husband. One day, being her forgetful self, Blaise forgot to tend the fireplace and went exploring in the forest. When she returned from her odyssey, her beloved home was scorched. The blazing fire was imprinted into her mind; she wailed in the void until her troubled spirit floated into a strange chimera.
The edge of the cliff probed Blaise’s conscious, questioning her sanity. On one hand, it coaxed her to get away from everything: she could forget about the fire, her family, the memories, herself… But, it seemed too easy, just giving up her life when she had so much to live for. A small voice rationalized with her reserved yet adventurous spirit that fought to live for experiences, not material things. She sat on the cliff’s edge, looking over the eerily calm blue waters as the sky grew plump with cumulonimbus clouds, pensive. Her thoughts were interrupted by the smooth sailing of a lone musician in a meek rowboat, his back turned to her. She couldn’t see the mandolin but she knew this was it. The most defining moment of her pathetic young life, the moment she could finally find answers to all her burning questions.
Before the voice even had a chance to rationalize with her, Blaise grabbed her knapsack and hat and dove into the water like a bullet, precise and controlled yet full of unknown potential. The clouds above her brewed, as if she had angered the spirits of her sisters with her secret; meanwhile, the sea swelled with tall waves and the wind started howling.
The second she hit the water, she sunk several feet into the chilling expanse of water, unable to breathe. The knapsack, still on her back, weighed her down further, dragging her into the depths of the bottomless body of water. Blaise’s surroundings froze as her eyes glazed over with the sting of saltwater and she sputtered for a gasp of relief. Despite her blurred vision, she could see the boat’s shadow from beneath the water’s surface, calling her. She become immune to the mandolin’s consistent tune, drowning it out in the rush of the adrenaline she just experienced. As her head bobbed to the surface, she flapped to stay afloat, ears full of water. Struggling, she paddled to the boat, sputtering, only to find an empty ark.
It was in that moment the mandolin died. She didn’t expect its silence to be so deafening, but deafening it was. A newfound emptiness took over her already shaken mind. It was as if someone had rekindled the fire from her pushed away past again, except now she didn’t even have her father’s comfort to save her from herself. With this realization, Blaise remained deathly still in the frigid water, without the physical or mental energy to flail for her life. She yearned for the mandolin’s call but it had all been a mirage.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All resemblance to actual people, places, incidents, or things is completely coincidental.
