The Muse

Deacon clenched his fist, enjoying the temporary relief as he heard his knuckles crackle. He stretched his fingers admiring them temporarily. They were different from that of normal men. Long and thin, but not disfigured in any sense. Delicate, would be a word to describe such hands. Elegant perhaps would also be another word associated with it. Deacon stared at his hands for some time, he imagined that they were the kind of hands that a skilled surgeon would acquire. Or perhaps that of a pianist. Million dollar hands Deacon thought to himself sarcastically as he turned back to the piano in front of him.

Throughout the world, the mere mention of his name was often associated with thoughts of greatness, and a skill with the piano that unrivalled many. He had been dubbed the Beethoven of the 20th Century recently by an esteemed reviewer. With that god like status amongst the music world came power and with power came wealth. Deacon was still young, his raven black hair was short and spiked, whilst his lean figure and slightly feminine face had launched his god-like musical status amongst the classical arena into that of a rock star. Companies lined up at his door begging him for ad campaigns, appearances at events and various other charity concerts. He had sex appeal, class, and a demeanour that appealed to millions. It was this that had effectively revived the image of classical music. Breathing in a new breath of fresh air into the stale stereotyped images of an audience consisting of old men with atrocious British accents paired with women of the same age with an equally worse accent.

But it was his eye's that captivated millions worldwide. Deacon was blind. His eyes by themselves though were just as unique as his talent was. They were violet in colour. The colours changed with his mood, at times they appeared as a light lavender colour when he was in mellower moods, but other times they changed to a brilliantly vivid violet with specks of azure throughout it; especially when playing. It was this vulnerability, this disability that had made Deacon such a successful commodity, not only had he mastered his disability, he had done what others with sight could not. If eyes are the window to one's soul, then Deacons soul was barricaded and impenetrable.

With the lost of his sight however, Deacon had adapted his other senses to compensate. For example his hearing was extremely sensitive, he could hear a pin drop from the other side of the room and his hands were, well million dollar hands.

His skills did not just lay with his music though. Deacon had bedded many women in his time; one of the many perks of being so sought after. He was a voracious lover and quite well attuned to the female body. Their moans of pleasure sent him into a world of enrapture as their bodies moved and flowed like music. Their rhythm building up in crescendo before slowing down, only to build up once again. But although he had enjoyed the physical contact, he had never grown emotionally attached to any of them. It was in his contract and he never felt the need.

Deacon massaged the sides of his temples, they ached dully from his fervent concentration. Counting inside his head, his fingers floated across the ivory keys of the piano. A haunting melody rose to his ears as he continued to play, his fingers a flurry across the keys as the song continued to play in his head. His fingers complimented his thoughts until he reached that same blank spot in the song. The same blank spot that had haunted him for years on end. His fingers froze temporarily with his blank thought. In an attempt to fill the blank void that had enveloped his train of thought his finger's flew across the keys, but the more he played, the worse it sounded until it reached to the point where he could take it no longer. Deacon swore out loudly as his hand clenched, bashing down upon the keys as they voiced their disapproval. The sound of notes chaotically fusing together to beat down upon his ears.

Grabbing the glass of half full red wine on the piano, Deacon took a large drink from it, draining the contents of the glass. His mind began to pound; he was feeling the effects of the alcohol as his senses began to swim. He lifted up the receiver of the phone perched besides his piano.

"Hello?" a voice answered from the other line, the voice was formal with a slight British epitome lingering throughout it.

-"Yes, John can you get me two paracetamol's and my jacket? I need to clear my head with a walk."

"Yes sir, shall I wake the driver?"

-"No that wont be necessary, I'll walk."

Deacon stood up, stretching his back. His legs ached as did his lower back. He could have easily gotten the things himself, he knew the house inside out. But he did pay his staff handsome wages after all, well his company did. The butler knocked softly at the door and entered the room carrying a tray with two pills and a glass of water. Deacon took the tablets from the butler thankfully and drained the glass of water. The butler handed Deacon his jacket, which he slung over his shoulder. Two pairs of footsteps barely audible against the plush carpet entered the room. Deacon looked at John and raised an eyebrow.

-"I did not ask for bodyguards."

"But sir, they are here for your protection."

-"I did NOT ask for bodyguards."

The butler stayed silent.

"There are a lot of sick people ou-" Bodyguard #1 blurted out.

-"Did I ask for your opinion? You must be the new bodyguard otherwise you would not have been so impertinent as to talk unnecessarily. Let me guess, Paul? Your... 6'2? Guessing by your elephant like strides I would say you're about 160-170lb?"

The bodyguard gaped. As arrogant and as blind as Deacon was, he was uncannily observant for someone without the gift of sight. The butler smiled as the perplexed Paul looked to his fellow bodyguard then at Deacon then to the grinning butler. Without so much as a pause, Deacon walked out the room, walking cane in one hand, jacket in the other.

The cool breeze of the night air hit Deacon in the face as he struck out towards the main street. His mind had mapped this path many times; he knew every single crack in the concrete on the way to his destination. Being blind, one had to be more observant about the smaller insignificant things that people often overlooked with sight. He moved at a fast rate, mainly because he knew that the bodyguards were following him despite his disapproval. They were always following him, sometimes they even invaded his dreams. Like a pair of silent sentinels they remained alert and kept a low profile. Only revealing themselves at any hint of danger.

Deacon could sense the nearing of the intersection by the way the path sloped slightly downwards to accommodate for the wheelchair bound. Three steps, two, one, click. His cane tapped against the concrete curb with the tip of the metal cane sounding off the edge of the kerb. Deacon listened for the sounds of any cars, the sound of the pedestrian crossing resounded, but judging from the distance of the sound Deacon figured that it wouldn't necessarily apply to the intersection he was about to cross. The chatter of people surrounded him, which he filtered through his mind in order to discern if there were any vehicles around the area. Satisfied, he walked across the treacherous road, his walking cane clicking against the bitumen in unison to his shoes. With each step closer he could hear the chatter of people growing louder. Laughter, garbled voices and the clinking of glasses filled his ear as he walked through the premises of his favoured pub.

Deacon inhaled the air deeply. It smelled of nicotine, stale beer and sweat. He grinned, he was at home. Walking confidently forward, he weaved through the menagerie of strewn chairs and people drinking until he felt the tip of his walking cane touch the metal rung of the bar. The bartender looked up at him and smiled.

"Ah Deacon, it has been too long. Where have you been hiding yourself? No time to visit your old pal Gavin?"

-"Ah now that is a familiar voice. But I could tell straight away who it was from your breath which I smelt as soon as I entered the door."

Gavin laughed.

"Ah still ever so charming I see Deacon, didn't your mother ever tell you about being tactful?"

Deacon smiled.

"Tact? I did not mean to give offense, but surely someone such as yourself doesn't get offended as easily as I had originally thought."

-"Ha ha it was merely a jest, you would have to do something pretty awful to offend me, like marry my daughter. But then that would make me rich, so I guess I don't have much else to work with now do I? So what can I get you?"

"I have abit of a headache at the moment so I better not push it. Give me a scotch on the rocks."

-"Coming right up."

The people drinking merrily did not seem to notice the celebrity sitting amongst them, or if they did, didn't seem to care. Deacon didn't mind either; peaceful anonymity was blissful. Sometimes it was good to blend into the crowd. The people quietened down though when the lights in the pub darkened and the main stage lit up. Their voices turning into hoarse whispers as a woman walked out onto the stage. The people in the pub seemed to recognise her though as they all erupted into a frenzy of applause. The woman wore a simple red dress that hugged her ample curves. A large slit up the side of the dress showed off her long slender legs whenever she walked. Her hair was jet black in colour, while her azure eye's framed her beautifully sculptured face. Her full red lips breathed sensuality, giving her face a slight Spanish feel to it. Whilst her high delicate cheekbones hinted at some asian heritage somewhere down the line. The soloist thanked the crowd and waited til their cheering subsided before the soft melodious tunes of a piano filled the air. Deacon had already received his drink at this stage as he turned his attention towards the stage, sipping on the drink. Enjoying the warmth as the alcohol travelled through his body.

The singer began to sing, a slow haunting melody. Her voice captivated the audience as well as Deacon for that matter. As it built in crescendo, her voice ethereally floated across the masses of entranced audience. Deacon listened to the words, it was a love song about the feelings associated with love and the pain associated with the loss of it. He felt a shiver deep inside of him, this woman's words touched at something deep inside of him and stirred something that had remained untouched until this point in time. He could actually feel her pain, her joy and her sorrow as her voice continued to weave its tale of magic at his soul. Deacon stirred in his chair, maybe it was just one of the effects of the alcohol. It disturbed him that someone could actually make him feel this way. He felt so vulnerable yet at the same time curious. The woman finished her song, her voice building up to a fortissimo as her voice reverberated around the room before slowly dieing down to silence. The audience erupted in applause. Deacon turned away disgusted when he found himself unknowingly applauding her. He tapped the bar with his knuckle until he smelt Gavin within talking distance.

"Who is that?"

Gavin grinned. "Like her? What a voice: angelic, incredible talent, Beautiful woman. Her name is Chastice, came to me at the beginning of the week applying for jobs. It mentioned that she was a singer in her CV so I asked her to sing. The rest is history. She is bringing in crowds like there is no tomorrow, business is booming and its all thanks to her."

-"I'm sure she is beautiful, with a voice like that I cant imagine her looking like a tramp. Tell me, does she sing everyday?"

"No, she has a tight schedule, she is only a student. So she only performs on Thursday nights. She will be back next week."

Disgusted with his infatuation over this woman whom he had not even met yet, Deacon finished the rest of his drink and left. The cold bitter breeze clearing his thoughts as he stepped back out into the night air. Later that night Deacon lay in bed, his sightless eye's staring out blankly at the bedroom ceiling. His thoughts were still in turmoil, a naked body stirred restlessly next to him as a naked arm emerged from between the sheets, encircling him and drawing him closer. It was the first time that he had not enjoyed sex, her moans of pleasure and her willingness to do anything seemed hollow and fake. An act- all an act to stroke his ego. Closing his eye's he drifted off to an uneasy sleep.

The crowd waited expectantly as Deacon walked out on stage. The crowd erupted in applause as he settled himself down in front of the piano. His fingers began to float across the keys as a melody rose in time to his skilful fingers. Halfway through the song his fingers suddenly began to feel tired, but he continued to play, trying to play through the pain barrier. But the more he played, the more painful his hands became. He looked down at his fingers, they were old and arthritic. Liver spots marked his hands leaving an ugly brown stain upon it. He glanced down at himself. He was old as his breathing became laboured, as he wheezed heavily he coughed. A small fleck of blood came up with his cough to stain the perfect ivory white keys. The blood took a life of its own spreading and growing, covering the other keys with its red viscousness.

Deacon felt himself growing weaker with each beat of his heart and each note he played. It was as if the blood-covered keys were that of his own, his hands felt sticky from the congealed blood solidifying upon his skin and the keys. Still he continued to play, ignoring the stabbing pain in his chest as the audience continued to look on. Sightless and emotionless yet still expectant nonetheless. All of a sudden a voice began to sing, its voice synonymous with the music. Deacon turned his neck to stare at the newcomer. It was Chastice. She looked at him and smiled her perfectly aligned white teeth gleaming in the light, her azure coloured eyes twinkled almost mischievously. As she continued to sing the pain began to ebb away from his chest. The piano keys slowly regained their colour, from a blood red it slowly began to pale, turning pink in colour before finally retaining their original white colour.

Finally the liver spots faded, the pain in his fingers disappeared, and the skin tightened once again, regaining its youthfulness. With the final key finally struck, Deacon finished. The crowd, previously silent and emotionless erupted in applause. Deacon stood up from the piano and walked over to Chastice enveloping her in his arms, before turning towards the audience and bowing in unison with Chastice.