The composers eyes have finally opened. After being locked in the studio and singing the same melodie’s over and over and over again, she was finally alive. It was as if each note was coming to him as the raindrops hit the ground. She hid under a tree trunk, trying her best to keep dry as she took out her manuscript paper and what she thought was a pencil, but now realised was the pen she used to sign her contract thismorning. One would think this would halt her, given the permanence of putting pen to paper, but it fueled her. each note she was placing, each rhythm she chose, each modulation she constructed, was exactly what she wanted. she was writing precisely how she felt, with no choice but to continue. going back and erasing the past was no longer an option .