Revenge to The Devil

As I passed a convenience store, I saw two domestic magazines on the iron shelf outside the door and couldn't wait to run there. My hands trembled every time I turned a page, I was eager to see the next page, and was afraid that I would be disappointed.

After looking through both magazines, I put them down despondently. It would be pleasant to see a picture of him. Pitifully, it was too low-key for him, so he didn't accept any interviews. I could even recite the limited information about him on the internet.

After several steps, I returned to look at the magazines over again obstinately.

I sighed, not even his name could be found. As I was about to close them, I saw him again, the confident, strange man. After glancing at the context casually, eventually, I understood why he was so surprised.

The entertainment company where he worked as his family's business, despite his capability, he had a pretty good family background, and they were extremely wealthy. Perhaps no one had ever refused an invitation from him, except me.

Turning over the last few pages, I found it was all his stories. I shook my head contemptuously and put the magazines back. Sure enough, he was the typical kind of guy that one would find in the entertainment business. I preferred the calmness and composure of Jonathan.

In the make-up room, I changed into my formal attire, covering my pale and haggard face with heavy makeup. I took a deep breath and walked onto the stage. I smiled faintly at everyone while playing the most pleasant tune on the piano.

I was satisfied when I saw the pleasant and enchanted expressions of the guests, which confirmed the little meaning of my existence. Inadvertently, we made eye contact as I caught sight of his curious and exploring eyes. Shawn was sitting nearby, toasting the wine and smiling at me. In response, I smiled at him as I did the other guests.

After finishing three songs, I got dressed in my clothing backstage. Taking lunch at work, I sat down to have some cold food on the corner where people were coming and going. I suddenly saw a glass of water and looked up. It was Shawn, with a gentle smile.

The smile annoyed me, and I lowered my head to continue my lunch.

He sat opposite me and asked "Why not sign the contract with my company? You can be famous overnight, based on your appearance and talent."

"My music is not as cheap as you think," I replied.

"Cheap? You were paid a hundred dollars to play three songs, but I can pay more for it if you like," he said.

"I admit that I am an ordinary now. I can sell my music for a hundred dollars. And I won't refuse everyone who can pay me to perform. But I will succeed without any shortcuts," I assured him.

"What do you call success, to perform at Grace Hall for the upper class? Why not let more people appreciate the infectious charm in your music?" he said.

"Mr. Donovan," I said and sat up straight to look at him directly in the eye, "Do you understand the piano? Art? Perhaps, you even don't know the song I played. I know that my music is of no value in your eyes, what matters the most to you is the way I look," I told him.

I picked up my bag and left without saying goodbye. I had met such men several times, talking it garishly, success and fame. I understood the rules in the entertainment world: apparently, people were like delicate vases, judged by others from head to toe.

I would never choose such a shortcut because I could sell anything except the most wonderful thing. When I was in front of the door, the melodious rhythm of Mozart was echoing." Was it the song I played just now?" I thought.

I paused and turned around slowly, I saw Shawn smiling at me and sitting at the piano.

At that moment a beam of bluish light shone through his leaping fingertips. For me, his performance was not outstanding, but soothing and relaxing, as it whipped through my cold heart. I tightened my wind coat, turning around towards the night outside without hesitation.

I was willing to comfort people's bleak hearts, while I didn't have anyone to warm my cold heart.

In the dark, I walked quietly towards the school under the neon light. When the phone rang, I answered it without checking. It was Steven.

He asked, "Are you back at school? I'll pick you up."

"No, I want to walk alone," I told him.

"Desiree?" I heard him say.

I blurted out "I'm fine. I just wanna be alone."

I Hung up the phone, then found a bench to sit on. After a long struggle, I dialed the telephone number I had recited in my mind, then I heard, "Sorry, the number you dialed does not exist."

I smiled and pulled my windbreaker over me to block out the cold wind, speaking into the phone, "Are you too busy to not have shown up? It's okay, I know you're busy. Oh, yesterday I played the piano and I made so many mistakes. Do you think I should be annoyed? It was out of my control, and I was too absorbed in it. Besides, there is a competition coming up in two days."

Then I added, "The professor picked the song, Butterfly for me. I know that he hopes that I will be made famous from that song. But I don't have to be famous; I am content with my present life."

I looked up at the new moon in the sky. It was my twentieth birthday. He promised to spend every birthday with me, because no one in the world knew my birthday, except for him.

"Jonathan, please talk to me, even one sentence. I will be satisfied with just one sentence," I cried.

The phone reminded me that it was the wrong number again and again. I buried my hands in my hair. I tried to control my emotions, but the pain was still there.

"I just want to know how you are. You can ignore my calls; you can also turn your phone off. But how can you be so heartless...You have deprived me of the right to see you, do you intend to take away the chance for me to listen to your voice?" I said.

"Just tell me that you are fine I will be satisfied," I said. Suddenly, Shawn appeared and grabbed my phone. He put the phone close to his lips. As he was about to speak, he looked at me in shock, then turned it off.