Poetry

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"Of Silence: the Two Arts" by theschizophrenicpunk
Simeon shrugs again as he closes the violin case, then pushes it back to the foot of the bed. “I just... play what I’m feeling,” he says. “It’s been so many years now, the melodies just come naturally depending on my mood, I guess.” “That’s...” Kanrik really doesn’t know what to say. “You’re... beyond amazing, Simeon...” It’s only now — at the sound of the thief’s half-mumbled words — that Simeon starts to realise... he hasn’t heard the sound of genuine praise in years. He’d forgotten what it felt like to be admired for anything other than his strength and brutality. To be proudly referred to as anything other than ruthless and cruel. Any semblance of respect that had been paid to him in the past dozen-or-so years had only ever been in fear, or out of supposed necessity, or feigned in an attempt to ensure safety or a job well done. It feels so painfully foreign... But he manages to hide all those thoughts behind another eyeroll. “Too much faith,” he echoes himself. Kanrik snickers, though the laughter is sparkling with an undertone of admiration. “I don’t need to have faith in you to think that you’re a wonderful musician,” he says.

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