Sans Music Novels & Stories

I turned on the air conditioner and turned up the music. “Hey, bro don't you normally wear a tie? What? Did you lose it?” “Hm? Oh! No. someone stole it.” “Heh heh heh was she pretty?” “Sexy smile, body, and personality.” I looked out the window as my face burned in response. I’m going to die.

Under his sunglasses he tried to hide the shade of grapefruit his cheeks were imitating. Maria scoffed "So, Mr Bordeaux where are you planning to go now?" she asked to which Mr Bordeaux yanked her hand manoeuvring her through the hallways, and passed the security doors. Maria had heat rising through her hands up to her chest, and face as his calloused hands held onto hers with such confidence.

"Although, I still fear you might be fighting a losing battle. I have not heard of any ballets that focus mostly on a man." "You might not. In fact, no one might. But I have written works myself. One, and one alone, pleases me enough to share." He held up a hand as Noelle began to speak. "And I have ways." He smiled enigmatically. A smile that made him more eerie than a real phantom. "Do not worry yourself." He slowly began to play. The music filled the air and one could almost see the glorious notes as they floated and danced like petals in the wind, like feathers from the wings of angels.

Sliding into the backseat of an Uber, I clutch my bag to my chest like a shield. I have him— whatever's in here is something he doesn't want anybody to see. But when I unlock my phone, the screen lights up with a push notification that drains every drop of blood from my face. New Music Video: "Muse" - Watch Now. My mouth goes dry. The bastard couldn't have. It's been what? Twenty— Thirty minutes? With a trembling thumb, I tap the link. The video opens on a gritty, unfamiliar set. I let out a hollow laugh.

Even before the large door was opened I could hear the lively music being played. Karis told us that it was called Sega and native to Mauritius. The music was a genre fusion of Seggae and Bhojpuri and sung in Creole. It was an interesting mix of drumbeats and rattle sounds.

“It’s just one drink, c’mon. Please?” I take a sip of the bubbly alcoholic beverage to appease Martha. We finish our first glass and Martha gets herself another after we departed around ten forty-five am. I capped myself at one drink then found myself falling asleep looking out at the scenery passing under the window listening to some calming music playing through my air pods.

I pulled free first, “Sorry. But don’t think this counts for anything, I’m still mad at you.” “Fair enough,” he kissed my cheek, “But before we start, know that I won’t be able to answer everything.” I sat on my desk, “Then answer this, who was that voice?” “You’re Muse,” he said lightly. I stared at him blankly, “What do you mean?” “Everyone has some form of music in their souls,” he explained, “But a musician has a unique Muse inside of them, whether it be classical, rock, or a mixture of both.”