#viola hate

“Paganini - I- I- I can’t go on like this. I need your advice.” I cry melodically.

“Paganini is here, Paganini has no fear, Paganini will write a song from the sound of your tears” he screeched, and before I could stop him he leaped away like a frog towards his violin and perfectly matched the sound of my desperate pleas with a beautiful melody. 

“Paganini!” I cry woefully. “Please! I have a family! I have my whole life ahead of me!” 

Paganini did not listen. He just kept playing, spinning my melancholy into melody, my harm into harmonies, my tears into a tune. 

“Yes, yes, yes.” he croaked to himself. “Yes… It will be beautiful.”

With desperation, I brought out my little hand bell that I carry in case of emergencies.

“DING” the bell rang out - an E flat note. Paganini’s beady eyes lit up like diamonds.

“Hehehehee!” rasped the virtuoso. “Little bell, little bell! How wonderful your sound is! I shall name the piece… ‘La campanella!’”

“Paganini… no!” I’m kneeling now, overcome by despair. “I had to talk to a violist today and I need to know whether or not to find their address and burn it down but all you can do is play music!?”

when you look at someone and go "wow. massive viola energy right there." or