There once was Elliot. 
             He was a talented being. Music was a physical thing to him. It was all around him. It would come to him in the day and at night it filled his dreams. He loved music. 
             One day he took control of the music and made something amazing. He was so proud of what he had done. He made the music his own.  Some others heard it and praised him. They would say " I had no idea you were so talented!" Elliot enjoyed that others thought what he had made showed how talented he was. He decided to continue to create. 
               He kept making more and more and the others liked it more and more. But the comments began to change from being impressed to a little critical.  
"This one is good, but i like how the older stuff was" they would say. 
Elliot was puzzled. 
"This is what i do. This is who I am. How can i make it how i used to?" 
             He racked his brain. He couldn't sleep. Every time he tried to make something, empty words filled his fingers. I can't do it...but the others wanted more.  
           Elliot tried to run, to flee from his talent but the music continued to swirl around and around dragging him deeper and deeper into madness.  Others continued their comments and said he lost his touch, that the talent was gone, but the music was still there. 
There was no escape. 
No one to listen. 

Alone. 


He hated music.

                                                                -Quasimodo