An Operatic Night In South Park

« on: August 19, 2010, 11:36:48 PM »

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He and Livvie seemed to be on two different levels, lately. Gone was the flare and pbumionate charge when their eyes met, gone, was the esp-like ability to sense the other’s emotions. Quite frankly, they were two different ships drifting apart on a sea of infinite possibilities. She had a certain exhaustivity about her, a new-found depressing disposition that seemed to leak into everything she did. Her cheers lacked pep, her words, lifeless, and her eyes seemed to be devoid of the ambition she once held so highly. It was obvious, that she had had her first taste of reality, and was taking it quite hard.

He wasn’t a normally compbumionate creature, but he still held Livvie in high regards; they were in a together, afterall. Sure, he had been slipping up lately, and had temporarily reverted back to his old ways, but that didn’t mean he lacked feelings for her. It was simply a rut among ruts in the road of relationship.

He had a certain bounce in his step; for once he actually wanted to do the right thing. The air was nippy and frosty against his skin, but he couldn’t be more happier. Her house loomed ominously in the distance, a faint light breaking the darkness that had shrowded it so cleverly. The light came from Livvie’s room; the familiar shade reminded him of the time he had snuck into her house. He grinned to himself as he stood a few feet away from her open window.

Kenny layed the medium-sized portable stereo on Livvie’s lawn quietly, pulling out the rumpled piece of worn paper from his pocket. He eyed it with an age-old fondness; on it were the scribbled lyrics to Andrea Bocelli’s Con Te Partiro, an opera piece he had originally learned for questionable reasons, but it had somehow found its way back to him (he had stumbled upon it while searching his room for a porno that had mysteriously disappeared under his bed). He hummed in alternating tones to himself, as he warmed up his vocal cords, preparing to sing a piece that hadn’t been sung for quite a few years. Singing was a personal and somewhat hidden talent of his; he had rarely ever indulged in it since the concert in Romania. He cleared his throat, bending down and pressing play on the boom box.

The street was instantly filled with a loud, yet harmonious, clbumical music backdrop. After he had gotten the feel and tempo of the music, he began to sing, the words flowing out of him professionally and seamlessly, melting in with the music like a hot knife through bumer. He stuffed the lyric page back into his pocket, his eyes trained on her window as the words continued to stream and resonate from him somewhat effortlessly.