Heya mesh fattaka.. and a tad cliche.. but I can see it very clearly in my head.. the girl and the guitar and the hall… but whenever I try to put it into words it goes cliche on me..
She sat there at the centre of the empty stage absorbing her surroundings. The rows and rows of vacant plush brick red seats, the elevated ceilings and the giant archways holding it in place rendering the huge hall column-less. The scale of the emptiness around her brings an inner fulfilment.
She clutches tighter onto the vintage guitar between her hands as it rested on her lap. She traces her fingers slowly towards the proper starting hand positions, hugging the giant guitar further into her chest. Her right hand firmly holding on to the chords; mentally visualising the melody. Her left hand loosely hangs over the guitar, strumming virtual chords in the air. That hand finally coming down slowly and gracefully to hit that one note. The note reverberates in the empty hall rapidly filling the emptiness and brining the ancient hall to life.
The melody in her head now overtaking her completely, her hands move on their own accord, sliding and gliding across the cool wood of the guitar, warming up the strings and her heart. Hitting complex note after the other, the notes taking on a physical persona, floating upwards, breathing life into the entire hall, as for the duration of her song, the seats were occupied, the lights were bright, the clapping loud and wild.
She hits the final note tapping the strings and holding the guitar closer towards her own heart. She could smell the old rosewood, she could feel the history that this guitar held, the artists it encountered and the melodies it has strum. She opens her eyes to view the hall, now once again empty and lifeless, short of some final echoing notes shimmering audibly in the hall… a reminder of the magic that once was.