Musical Creation

[Ebil-NekoCat]

Musical Creation

Story by: Cat, Lauren, and Robin
Written by: Cat
Edited by: Lauren

In the beginning, there was only a dark, quiet and windy world, which was incredibly large and almost completely empty. All that existed there were the great Mystical Beings, who possessed the power to create. But they were never interested in creating anything, because they didn't care about finding new things. They weren't curious, they weren't adventurous, and they liked their empty world just the way it was.
Four of these Beings, Philomela, Brutus, Artis, and Paxon, were are relatively young. They had grown up together, and after barely two decades of life they had long since grown accustomed to their world.
However, while the boys would spend time fighting and having contests, Philomela spent a great deal of time by herself, simply listening to the wind. The way it whistled through the darkness and blew her hair up around her was very intriguing to her. She'd tried telling the boys to listen to the wind too many a time.
"It's such a beautiful sound," she would say. "I could listen to it all day."
"It's only the wind," Paxon always replied in exasperation.
"Yes, but imagine all of the other beautiful sounds we could possibly make! What if we had some kind of string to pluck or tightly pulled fabric to beat upon?" Just the idea would bring a smile on Philomela's face. "And then who knows, we could make new sounds after that, and soon they'd all fit together to make wonderful sounds!"
"Philomela, stop talking crazy," Brutus would grumble.
"Yeah, you're not making sense," Artis would add.
"Face it, Philomela," Brutus always continued. "There's no reason to make it. Whatever could its use be?"
And after that Philomela would have no response, because to be honest she wasn't exactly sure what use music would have. So she always would hang her head dejectedly, and then the boys would walk away shaking their heads.
But still when Philomela was alone she would listen to the music of the wind and she would say to herself, "Music has to have some purpose, and I'll one day find out what it is."
On one such day, Philomela was feeling particularly moved by the sounds of the breeze, the low whistle carried through the air, so she began to whistle along, all the while imagining small musical creatures that could float on the breeze that whistled so. And as she whistled and imagined, her notes began to echo around her, which sounded very pretty indeed, so she continued. Then the notes took on a life of their own, forming into little flying animals that whistled back at her. Little flying animals of many colors, some deep red and others dark brown.
Philomela gasped. She reached out her hand, and one of the feathery creatures landed on her finger. It whistled at her cheerily, which overjoyed her. "Look at that!" she exclaimed, startling the creature into flying away. "The whistling brought them to life!"
She looked at them all, decided to call them birds, and continued to whistle and create
different shapes and sizes of them. Some so tiny, some a bit bigger. Some that zipped around in the air and some that couldn't lift off the ground.
After a few moments had passed she was content with all that had just come to be, her face glowing. She had to show the boys what she had done, and then perhaps they'd understand what it was that she loved about the wind!
She took off running, shouting their names and squinting through the darkness looking for their shapes. When she finally reached them, she could barely contain her excitement and blurted out everything in one breath so quickly that the boys had no idea what she had said.
“What was that?” Artis said, tilting his head.
Philomela was out of breath now, though, and could barely speak. Instead she gestured for the boys to follow her. They exchanged confused looks, Paxon mumbled complaints about having important things to do, and Artis contemplated simply saying 'no' and staying behind, but the three boys followed Philomela anyway.
It was slow going at first as they waited for her to catch her breath, but after a few moments Philomela was ready enough to hurry back to her wondrous surprise. The boys followed right behind her, each getting a bit more annoyed with each second.
But when they arrived in Philomela's usual spot, they instantly noticed the birds and went from being annoyed to simply becoming frightened.
“What are those?” Paxon asked urgently.
“And wherever did they come from?” Brutus snapped.
Philomela put her hands proudly on her hips and declared to the three, “I made them myself. I whistled with the wind, and they appeared. Watch,” she whistled, low and steady, and after a while a new bird had appeared, one with long legs and a long neck. “Did you see? I found the use for the sound of the wind, making birds!”
Artis gasped. “Making birds?”
“Why would anyone want to do that?” said Brutus.
Philomela held up her arms. “Why? They're beautiful, and they can whistle too!” A few birds perched on her outstretched arms, which made her laugh. “And who knows, perhaps I can make other things with these beautiful sounds too. Maybe birds aren't the only thing possible.”
“You really shouldn't,” Artis replied. “It's really pointless, and you'll only look weird.”
Paxon nodded. “Yes, Artis is right.”
Philomela groaned and dropped her arms down on her side. The birds fluttered their wings and squeaked their complaints as they searched for a new perch. One attempted land on Brutus, who whipped his hand at it and made it fly away. “Go away, you,” he grumbled.
“Be nice to it!” Philomela said quickly.
“I don't have to be nice to it,” Brutus said, leaning down to be eye level with Philomela, who in fear took a step back. “You shouldn't have made it in the first place. You already did and it's too late to change that. But from now on you can't make anything new. If you do, we'll have to get rid of it, because making things like birds or whatever else you could create is strange and in the end has no use at all.”
“But the birds can-”
“They can whistle,” Brutus finished for her, “But that's not really useful, is it?”
Philomela sighed. She wouldn't be able to argue with him, because one thing was certain about Brutus, he was stubborn. No matter how much Philomela argued with him, he would have three arguments to shoot right back. She nodded in dejection, then sat down and rested her chin on her knees. Brutus, Artis, and Paxon lingered momentarily, then Paxon led them away to their usual spot.
Philomela looked up at her birds, who fluttered around and hopped about on the dark floor. She smiled momentarily, then her face fell. Why didn't the others understand how wonderful the wind was? How beautiful whistling sounded? How miraculous the little birds were? “If only I could find some way to prove it to them,” she muttered.
The birds tweeted and twittered and perched on Philomela's shoulders. One nestled itself in her hair and slept. She giggled. “If only you had a house, then you wouldn't have to sleep on my head.” Then she had an idea. A house for the birds was useful. What if she could make that?
She stood up straight and thought of the birds. She imagined what a bird's house would look like, how it would be tall for birds to fly onto and live in yet still live in the sky. Not to mention it would have some way to be musical, just like the little birds that lived in it. She began to hum, then she sang. She didn't use words, just the notes that came into her head. The wind carried her voice and blew her hair up around her. Still she sang, until in front of her she could see something quite beautiful forming. It was tall with a bushy top, and when the wind rushed through it there was the sound of rustling, which was interesting. The birds noticed it, and flocked onto its branches. They preened and nestled in the leaves, and after Philomela was finished with her final notes her creation towered in front of her. “It's perfect,” she crooned, taking it all in. She placed her finger on her chin, and after a few minutes decided that this new home for the birds would be called a tree.
She had spent much of the rest of the day trying to find ways to nonchalantly bring up her tree in conversation with the boys, but they were rather annoyed with her and mostly ignored whatever it was she would say. Finally, after hours of “Can you guess what I did today?” and “So I was thinking about what you told me earlier,” Paxon turned to her.
“Just tell us, Philomela,” he said, “What is it? What is so interesting?”
She smiled knowingly. “Well, Brutus told me that I shouldn't make anything because anything I make will be useless, right?” Brutus nodded his head. “Well, I disagree!” Before the others could ask what she meant, she had turned on her heels and was hurrying back to her special spot. They stood rooted in place as she beckoned them to follow.
“Come on now, you'll want to see this!” She called back to them, and reluctantly they followed after her.
When finally they reached the tree, they weren't sure what to say. They simply stood staring up at its massive branches, which now was home to many of the birds that had previously had nowhere to perch but the arms and shoulders of the people below.
Moments passed and the silence on the boys' parts was rather unnerving, so Philomela asked, “Well, what do you think? Isn't it beautiful?”
Artis was hesitant. “Yes it is, but...” he looked to the others for support, but they merely stared back blankly at him. He looked up at Philomela. “But what in the world is it?”
Brutus finally spoke. “Never-mind what it is, didn't we specifically tell you not to make anything new?”
“Oh, but this is useful, because now the birds have somewhere to live,” Philomela explained.
“But it wouldn't be needed if you hadn't made the bird in the first place.”
“The birds aren't the only ones this is for!” Philomela said. “Listen to it, all of you! Don't you hear all of the wonderful sounds it can make? Just like the birds, like the wind! How can you not hear how beautiful it is? How wonderful?”
Paxon stepped forward. “It's only the wind, Philomela. That's all. There's nothing beautiful or wonderful about it. It's just wind.”
Brutus nodded. “Why can't you understand that?”
Philomela looked at each of them sadly. “I think you're the ones who can't understand.”
Artis sighed and Paxon rubbed his temple. Brutus glared down at Philomela, until finally he looked up at the other two and mumbled, “Do you all remember what we said we would do if she made anything new?”
Looks of understanding slowly crossed their faces, and Philomela edged slowly to her tree, standing in front of it as if her small body would be enough to protect it. The three boys all came at the tree together, Brutus pushing Philomela aside as Paxon and Artis ripped out its roots and it fell on its side. The birds came out of the leaves in a swarm, frantically searching for somewhere else to land. Philomela looked up from the cold, dark floor Brutus had her pinned down on, and she let out a soft sob. Her tree sat very still, too low for the wind to sing though its leaves and thus the tree was silent. The birds had left in fear and had scattered about in all directions, so there were no sounds besides the scuffling of feet as Paxon and Artis came away from the tree and Brutus let Philomela go.
She crawled beside her tree, salty tears staining her cheeks as she lightly touched the bark. The three boys watched her, and Artis began to ask if they should apologize, but he stopped when Brutus and Paxon turned away from Philomela and began walking away. Artis lingered for no more than a second or two, then followed the others. Philomela was left alone, her tree dead on its side and her birds long gone.
Philomela looked up at where the boys had been standing. She wanted to fix everything, to make it anew, but she knew that they would be able to destroy it all again. She looked down at her tree and its wilting leaves. Then suddenly she stood up, filled with determination. She didn't care if the boys ripped every tree she created out of the ground, she was going to make them. And when they destroyed her trees again, she'd just make more. She didn't care if they couldn't hear the wonderful sounds, because she could, and soon she'd make new creations with newer sounds.
She sang, whistled, danced, imagined wonderful things. Soon grass sprouted, the sky brightened, rivers cut through the land, small animals crawled below and flew overhead. All around her the world burst into life.
Brutus, Artis, and Paxon were far enough away that their sky had yet to brighten and Philomela's singing had yet to reach their ears. Artis was the first to hear it, and he sat listening. He realized Philomela was right, that the sounds really were beautiful.
Soon Brutus and Paxon noticed the sky turning blue and the grass growing under their feet. Paxon gasped, “What is this?”
Brutus growled. “Philomela must have done this.”
“She never learns, does she?”
“I thought we had made a point.”
Paxon shook his head. “Come on, I suppose we'll have to go back and-”
Artis stood in front of them. “Wait a moment,” he said quietly. “Listen.”
The others were confused, but they stayed in place and concentrated. The water of the river that was forming in from of them splashed and gurgled as the wind made the leaves on the trees shuffle. The birds sang to one another and little insects chirped. A raccoon chirruped to its kits trailing behind her. Ducks floating in a newly created pond quacked to one another.
Artis looked around. “Look at it all,” he said. “And listen to it. Philomela was right, this is wonderful.” Brutus opened his mouth to argue, but Artis continued, “All of this was made from Philomela's singing. And it all makes such beautiful sounds too. Just listen, you can hear it too now.”
Brutus looked at Paxon, not sure what to say. Paxon mumbled, “Yes, I can hear it.”
Artis nodded. “We can't keep something like this-” he gestured all around him, “-from existing. We should be helping.”
Brutus sighed. He hated to admit it, but Artis was right. Philomela was right. He could hear it, and it was beautiful. He looked up at Artis and nodded, and the tree walked off to find Philomela.
Philomela heard them coming and worried momentarily, before she calmed herself and remembered she could always make this again. She turned around to see the boys, and asked, “Are you back to tear down my trees again?”
Brutus shook his head. “Not exactly.”
Paxon continued, “We came to help you make more.”
And so for the rest of the day they all sang, creating tall flowers and larger mammals and birds with sharp talons on their feet. And when they were done with Philomela's spot, they split up, singing and creating different places all over the world. Brutus made deserts, Artis made jungles, and Paxon made tundras. Philomela made great plains that stretched as far as the eye could see, and soon the entire Earth was colorful and alive. The Mystical Beings had created the world through music.