#sillyvision

Henry was seeing things. Correction: there was something wrong with Henry's vision.

Perhaps, that is not the case, but there certainly was something rather off about the spectacle parading before him. The loops tended to be boring, and, as the title suggests, repetitive, and so seeing something completely different always was a bit of a shocking experience.

The instruments were playing by themselves. No musician, no conductor, no strings or sleight of hand- believe him, Henry checked. No, he was simply surrounded by drums that beat without percussion, a piano that plinked without a hand to the keys, violin bows swaying sans specialist, guitars strumming in a melodious, haunting croon.

It was nearly reminiscent of the music that had played in that hall so long ago, and yet, not at all alike. The main discriminator was the adagio, pianissimo tremors that inflicted that eerie and disquieting aura. Henry drifted through the empty music hall as a ghost, essentially a depiction of caesura at its finest.

He sat on the floor where Sammy would have typically stood, allowing the crests of music to shift through his body like sand in a sieve. Despite the slow, piercing notes, there was a degree of comfort to be eked from the straining, soft sounds.

Henry stared; refusing to blink- because surely this was a trick of the light, and the instant he would cease his gaze the magic would dissipate.

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