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Saturday, September 12, 2015

Mass

There comes a time during Sanctus in the Great Mass by Mozart, that certain realizations start to grasp you. Like her pulse slowing to the rhythm of the last movement, as yours begins to race. Like the light in her eyes slowly dimming as you squeeze her neck a little more. A tearful look of shock and disbelief washes over her face as you apply the pressure needed for your escape. An unnatural range of emotions overwhelm you from satisfaction to guilt to sadness to elation. The chorale complexity of the next movement, Benedictus, moves you to tears. She never appreciated Mozart. She never appreciated you. Her complacent grin has been replaced by an expressionless mask starring into the vast nothingness now; while your beaten down scowl fades into a slight smile... You feel vindicated and alive while slowly coming to terms with the commitment of your actions. You have signed your own death warrant. The soprano harmonies in Gloria: Domine are haunting and beautiful. Mozart was truly a genius. It's probably time to skip to the finale and play Qui Tollis as you place the rough rope around your neck. You wobble on the unsteady chair as you throw the rope over the high beam. The celestial music, as if played by angels themselves, echoes through the now placid house, and the mass plays on. And as you step off the chair you take solace in that the last thing you see is her hateful, twitching body, and the last sound you hear is the heavenly Mozart mass...

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