I wrote this one day for no apparent reason. The day before, my brother and I were talking about how hanging yourself from a guitar string would be a perfect death for a musician. That was after we heard the song 'Loser' by Beck. So, I dunno. Maybe part of that conversation was planted in my subconscious. There's a line of lyrics in the note. They are from "Gloomy Sunday," the Heather Nova version. Before reading this, I suggest you turn out all the lights and put on some dreary music. It adds to the effect.

MISERY

Tick. Tock. The clock mounted on the wall steadily counts off time, never stopping, never slowing. The fan spins slightly in the center of the room, slow, but continuous. It shakes slightly from the weight hanging from it, but it still spins. Upon entering the dimly lit apartment, you can hear quiet music. Focusing, you recognize it as "Gloomy Sunday," commonly known as the suicide anthem. One wall of the apartment is cluttered with a studio piano, three guitars, and several other orchestra instruments.

Turning your attention to the center of the room, you see a group of guitar strings attached to the fixture of the fan. The clock ticks quietly and steadily as you follow the strings downward. Hanging from the bottom is the body of a young woman in a deep red dress. Her light brown hair hangs past her shoulders, closing in on her waist. The fan spins silently, swaying her hair around her limp body, making her seem almost alive. The dress clings to her small frame, tight at the hips and flaring out around her feet. One shoe is on her foot, the other lies on the floor.

Next to the shoe, you see two roses. One is lush and red, the other black and withered. The thorns of both roses are coated in blood. Inspecting the woman's hands, you see small holes from where she gripped the roses and was punctured by the thorns. Her fingers are long and thin, perfect for a musician. Her arms and wrists look muscled and delicate at the same time. You suspect that this woman was somewhat of a prodigy on whatever instrument she touched; she has the wrists of a musician.

Turning you gaze upward again, you see a long silver chain with a plain crucifix hanging around her neck. The middle finger of her left hand has a plain silver band around it. Her pale hair is covering her face. Without you even knowing, you reach up to brush it away.

The clock ticks, melancholic and foreboding. You lift her hair away and turn to see her expression. Her eyes are open; scared, sad and happy all at the same time. They are a beautiful, piercing grey with glints of silver. But the shine has left her eyes leaving only empty spaces. The woman's skin has begun to turn blue from a lack of oxygen. You are overwhelmed in sadness and bow your head. Then you notice a scrap of paper on the ground.

"I'm sorry. I've failed you all. The melody has struck a wrong chord. The orchestra has stopped. The symphony must end. Please forgive me. Let them not weep. Let them know that I'm glad to go. We'll meet again."

Next to her signature is a small drop of blood. As you stare at this note, you silently weep for this woman. She once held in her the melody of life and sweetness, and the discord of failure and grief. Her symphony is over, dead as the guitar strings from which she hangs.

You wish you could have been here earlier; to comfort her, to stop her. You back away as the tears begin to fall. The image of her eyes will never leave you.

"Elena Nicola," You whisper as you take the door handle. "I will never forget you. Your song will resound though the orchestra has ceased. The echo will continue."

The clock ticks. The fan spins.

Turning the handle, you leave the room, closing the door behind you.

So, what did you think? Please review whether you liked it or not. This was my fourth draft and I'll probably make another draft if I get some reviews on how to improve it. Thanks for reading! (and in case you didn't notice, I used my own name as the character in the story. hehehe hint hint)