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Dvorak’s 5th This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

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     A breath. A note. The first oboe hasn’t situated herself yet so I sound the radiant tuning note. All focus is on the piece at hand.

Destruction. A looming woodwind chorus begins our journey. Silence. Agitated basses and horns announce trouble. Our world is crumbling yet we continue to destroy it. Trombones hit me in the stomach and the clarinet soothes me. What confusion! Abruptly the flute takes over and we are transported to our childhood. Where our fond memories lie. How could we have been so selfish, asks the first oboe. Again the horns repeat the warning but it’s too late. An earthquake erupts and our planet is consumed by flames. People are dead on the streets, babies cry, the earth is doomed. Silence.

Tender explanation. A strong bass picks up the survivors. An English horn shows us what we have done. It almost says, “This is what you have created. Although you have failed you have the chance to begin again.” The flute then spreads the idea through all the land and we begin to rebuild. Silence.

Celebration. The dust has settled and we have begun again. Joy. Dance. Everyone is so happy. All instruments bring their special sound to the festivity. No longer do we need to worry of evil as we were the evil and now we have changed. Love is just now beginning to blossom. Silence.

Warning. Although we have been victorious, we must be cautious. Our world is changing and we must strive to keep it safe. Horns remind us what has happened and the flute soars to echo the message. The clarinet soothes people to try to keep order. Trombones rise with angry waves but our common sense helps us see the warnings this time.

We struggle to hang on and yes, yes, we have kept our new world. A woodwind chorus brings us to a fulfilled yet purposeful ending.

The cases gobble up the instruments and the lights are extinguished. The musicians leave. It is then and only then when I am alone on stage that I can hear the symphony - no, journey again. I open my case and become more than just an oboe for no one but me.

This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






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