Chapter 1810 — Curtain call

As the faint, white light shining from the string got a little brighter, the world turned monochromatic. The faint light shone over the statues who were garbed in black suits and white shirts. Even the violin itself was a dark shade of grey, rather than its usual deep brown.

In the lonely, faint white light, the only thing moving was Z’s arm as he moved it back and forth to play the same, single tune. But even when the sound reached a crescendo, and the light shone its brightest, all it could do was reveal a desolate world of grey.

The sound started to fade, its volume slowly decreasing, and the light beginning to dim. It seemed like there was no hope, and no recourse. Yet just as the sound was about to fade back into oblivion, Z’s finger moved just the tiniest bit, and his hand swerved just a little.

A second note came into play, and dust fell off the statues - dust that had accumulated over eons of stillness.

Two notes, that was it, yet as they gained in volume and presence, the statues began to tremble, as if they were trying to remember what it meant to be alive. Slowly, one of the creases in one of their suits smoothed out, pulled down by gravity. Another’s tie fell forward, the open button leaving room for it to swing loosely.

Their attire was reverting from stone to its natural state, but it was not yet enough to break the statues free of their prison.

A third note appeared, and the spell that held them loosened.

Instead of a new note, Z began to mix the three up, creating a beautiful melody, and with that melody came not the freedom of the statues, but color! The grey violin started to turn brown, and the scorched earth started to turn green.

Grass, which had previously been pressed down to the ground and turned to stone, started to stand back up as it regained its color and the world started to revert to what it once used to be.

But even as the colors returned, and the winds danced in joy around them, the four statues remained exactly that: statues.

Z’s music, once again, reached a crescendo, and then began to fade. The colors began to fade, and a silent desperation could be seen in the eyes of the statues.

No, no they didn’t want to lose the light! They didn’t want the colors to fade! They, too, wanted to live in that garden, to feel the wind kiss their faces, to let the colors paint their souls. Yet it was not to be.

It was evident, now, to the viewers that the more that Z played the violin, the more he harmed himself. He, too, was made of stone, and yet the more he moved his arm to play music, the more cracks began to spread across his body.

Just as the four statues desperately yearned for color, it was evident that Z yearned for their company, even harming himself if need be to make it happen.

It was a tale of depression, desperation and loneliness. Yet just as the music was about to fade once more, an intense fervor filled Z’s eyes.

A loud snap disrupted the melody, and an obvious crack became visible across Z’s body, but the intensity of his music changed. No longer was it three notes mixed together, it was music! True music - and it gave life once more to the four statues.

They moved, looking lost and confused as they inspected the colorful world around them - entirely foreign from the bleak darkness that they were used to. Then came the joy.

The four statues leaped with glee and twirled in ecstacy, they jumped with joy and danced as if they had been given refuge from despair.

Unlike the Salsa Boys, the four statues did not dance synchronously. Instead, each of the four danced their own dance, expressing their merriment in the deepest and sincerest form they could.

The four danced around Z, as if powered by the music, while Z himself had lost himself in the music too. His eyes had closed, and his feet did not move from where he stood, but he danced too.

With every swing, every dip and every rise, his body swayed. It was as if the melody flowed through his body before emerging from the violin. His dance was a dance of deepest passions, and simultaneously, it was of pain.

His entire body had turned to flesh, yet only his arm, covered in cracks, remained of stone. With every note, every piece of melody he played, his hand continued to crack, the pain rocking his very core. Yet while the pain translated into his dance, it never managed to invade his music - the very music that kept his friends alive, and brought them joy.

The cost, though, for such a thing was too great. A piece of the hand shattered completely, turning into rubble and falling to the ground, leaving Z without an elbow. Still, he did not stop, dedicated to sacrificing everything to keep his friends alive. What was the point of having an arm if it meant living in solitude?

But the spell was broken. Though his music remained as sweet as ambrosia, the sound of falling rubble startled the four dancers, causing them to finally wake from their joyfilled rollick, and turn to the source of their newfound freedom. They looked to Z, only to finally discover the price of their freedom, as well as the one who paid it.

The pirouettes stopped, and the celebrations ceased. The four stood still, just as when they were statues, and watched as Z paid the price for their freedom.

In that moment, Lex flashed back to when the system popped up, and how Mary guided him through that tumultuous time. Sure, he could claim that the depression was caused by his tumor. To a large degree, it was. That didn’t change the fact that alone, he might never have been able to overcome it. It was only through the help of another that he finally broke out from that mental prison, just as these statues had only broken free because of Z.

The difference was, in this situation, they had finally seen the immense price Z had paid for their freedom.

The dance had gone through two segments. The prologue, marked by the stillness, and the rising action, marked by the intense and joyous celebration of the four statues. Now it was time for the curtain call.

Once again, the music reached a crescendo, except this time it was not in volume or cadence, but in the richness of the melody itself. The greater the damage and the pain that Z felt, the more passion he poured into his music, and the more agonizing, yet morbidly beautiful his dance became. The statues, now four living humans, however, stood still.

The world had color once more, and the stone prison that trapped them had faded, yet they were stationary. Maybe they wanted to witness Z’s ultimate sacrifice. Maybe they wanted to honor him. Or maybe, they found the price of their freedom unbearable.

Snap!

A piece of his forearm fell, leaving an empty gap between his hand and his arm yet the music did not stop.

Snap!

A finger fell, yet the bow was held firmly, as if it was Z’s will, not his hand, that held it.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

At last, his hand was no more, and Z opened his tearfilled eyes to see one last time his friends before they turned to stone. Yet he did not see their carefree dance. He did not see them frolicking in the newly restored garden.

Instead, he saw one waving a baton, not playing music, but controlling the rubble on the ground and remoulding it into a stone hand. He another saw dancing on the dirt, weaving the earth into a suitable forearm. Another used the grass to form the upper arm, while the last sewed everything together, reconnecting the arm that Z had lost.

Then... and then they took Z’s hands, set aside the violin, and together they danced. None of them were coordinated. All of them did their own thing. Individually, it looked like a chaotic mess. Together, however, it all came together to form the perfect performance.

Better yet, even without the violin, the light did not fade, and the music did not disappear. Instead of a solo act, the five of them joined their voices together in a capella, making the colors of the world even more vibrant, putting pressure on none, and including them all in their dance, their celebration of life.

Once again, at the thirty minute mark, the performance came to an end. The five of them, who ended the dance holding hands, all bowed to the audience, waking them from their stupor, and bringing them to the sad realization that the performance - nay, the emotional journey they had been on - had come to an end.