They tell me I was born on the day of Islerealm, the day our world was lit aflame. The heavens themselves were bathed in an angry red glow, and the skies shook asunder. Islerealm, the shooting star, fell past the night sky, and cast a harsh streak across the starry filament. Shortly after, I was delivered. The slash across the empyrean was forever imprinted into my youthful mind, and that ugly red scar across the otherwise unmarred starry sky remained with me forever.

              I was an anomaly. Unlike the other newborns born on the day, I was silent. I suppose I was shocked into silence by that heavenly object, and my gaze always drifted skywards. During my early childhood, I wasn't much for play and games. No, instead of joining the others and participating in menial games such as hopscotch, I would climb onto the roof of my disgustingly ideal American house, and lay there, listening to the breath f the wind and the shifting, mesmerizing shapes of the clouds above. My family was the epitome of the “american Dream.” We had a 2-story house, with a white picket fence, a dog, and 2 children, my sister and I. She later grew up to become a politician, while I merely dreamed of even greater visions.

               Some days as I lay upon our roof, I would see the shadows of angels all around me. They darted from place to place, until I stood up, and it smiled back at me, in my own shadow. It was a disturbing experience, and I turned my back on religion ever since, for I always believed that none should have complete power over me. From that day on, the shadows have never bothered me since. I grew up to be a gangly teen, having mld hobbies there and there, but I never invested in a singular activity, until I was exposed to music. Not the repulsive, short, soundless tunes, but the virtuoso pieces of the masters. July 14. It was the day I was consumed by the premise of music, and the day I began my studies as a violinist. The beginning was rough and bumpy, but as time continued, my music flowed, not like ocean waves, but the endless drifting sea of sands of the mighty deserts.

              However grand the music was, it wasn't enough. I strived for excellence, for perfection, and even as I stand at the end of my journey, having played all the Caprices, the Mozart Concertos, the Brahms, and so on, I could not find the piece that I’ve searched for so long that could define me. Because the compositions of the past could not satiate my thirst, I turned to the present and began to compose my magnum opus. As I sat there, one night, thinking of ideas to begin my piece, inspiration struck. The day of Islerealm, that glorious splash of angry red across the filament, that star did not bow to anyone. And thus, my journey to write my masterpiece began.

                  But as all journeys may start, they must reach an end. And that end eluded me. The path to my destination was long and winding, and however hard I strived to achieve it, it was unfortunately not enough. As shooting stars go, they burn bright and fast, but are consumed quickly, die out. The embers of my piece turned to dust, and the drifting, shifting faces of my past haunted me. I quickly fell into despair, torment, and depression. It was my downfall, and even when I played that bright, musical instrument, its melody was not enough to lift me out of the blanket of oppression and despair. I was dragged into the depths, and even as I approached the deep, it continued to lengthen, until I was falling into a never ending pit of was seemed to be hell.

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                 Family could not deliver me from this, and I could not find a way out. This lapse in my strength that came with music was soon filled in with a sickness-a devastating fever. Many a days I was left in a hospital bed, yearning for death, but it could never be delivered. I would drift in and out, from a hospital, to a rolling sea, to a scorching desert, and back. Reality seemed infirm, and the intangible became tangible, and vice versa. I began contemplating life, and its mysteries. It didn't help, as I began doubting my very existence, and my senses began failing me.

               As I drifted into a fitful sleep one night, my eyes began burning, but  put it off as a side-effect of the medicine that was given to me daily. However, as I awoke, something seemed off. Instead of being greeted to the harsh light of the hospital I was detained at, I awoke to a muffling, black darkness that suffocated me. I never realized I was going blind. Even if I did I simply denied it. Never complaining to the doctors, never mentioning this to anyone, until the day came when the the Head proclaimed that I was well. As I lifted my broken body up, there was no sense denying it, and finally my disability was revealed to everyone. My sight had left me, and with it, my spirit. I thought to myself, truly, geniuses are born once every century, and my skills might have been hailed as such. The irony of this is that we are much like shooting stars, burning bright, but fading away just as quickly.

             Time became relative, and it no longer mattered to me anymore. My body was well, but my spirit was forever broken, cursed to a live a life in a dysfunctional shell. And as I stumble homewards, I ignore the outstretched hands of my relatives, but instead towards my bright beauty, my violin. And as I stand there, one hand gently caressing the case of my instrument, it suddenly dawned on me-I was unable to perceive the instrument, and as of such, never able to play it again. That was the next turning point in my life, however unclear the rest of the day was, the singular defining event was the realization.

              And that certain realization shattered me, leaving small pieces strewed around in my already broken shell. Deemed dangerous and mentally, my “good” parents sent me to what they proclaimed to a “recovery center”, but deep down in the depths of my tormented mind, I knew that it was a mental asylum, and I was to be locked away, forever, and I would never resurface once again. The looks of disdain and disgust on the faces would remain with me forever. Time… didn’t exist anymore, as I had no need for it, and the darkness suffocated me. Until someone delivered me from my torment.

                      -Rejoice Michael, for I am your savior, and new life shall be yours if you accept me into your heart. Come, and receive your fate. Bring forth your music, and become my harbinger. Become.. The harbinger of Music.-