Magnum Opus

Today was finally the day Felix Mendelssohn's suffering came to an end.

The composer had finally come to a dramatic realization, an epiphany, one that allowed him to not only create a masterpiece the likes of which his predecessors would approve of, but perhaps even be proud of. At long last, he would be happy, and he would share his magnum opus with the world. His Concierto had been scheduled, the music was ready, and it called to him.

He emerged from his quarters and waited in the wings, wrapping his tie around his neck as he awaited the queue. A blinding spotlight shined bright, illuminating a pedestal on the center of the stage. He could hear the thunderous applause of his audience, roaring and praising him as he got one foot up, then the other.

He hesitated.

The crowd was roaring, chanting his name and clamoring for him. Felix looked across the endless sea of featureless faces obscured by the limelight and swallowed nervously. He had to do it. The shoe had to go on. One last time, he fixed his tie. He clicked his heels and held his arms up, basking in the adoration of the crowd with a smile on his face.

He was complete.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License