Scene x This scene comes from a book I started in high school. Basically, an apparently quasi-vegetative boy begins writing music. His music, when performed, has the ability to control people, cause instruments to catch on fire, and blood to stream out of the timpanis. Although the child is only 8, his eccentric parents wed him to a lady in order to help him to live a more normal life, but the unconsensual marriage on both parts ended up in her cheating on him while in the same room. In a rage, he writes a piece that puts her into insanity. The scene occurs about a week later, where she now begs of him to put her out of her misery I can't take it anymore. Please, I want to die. I can't even sleep, look at my eyes- I don't dare fall asleep for the thoughts that you have put in me have corrupted the sweet dreams I once had. Please, put me out of my misery, or are you that bare hearted that you can look at me in my pitiful state, and not spare but a flinch of your emotions? Look at me, you asshole, look what you've done. Did I wear rage before we met, did I talk in hoarse language... look at my teeth, they've already begun to rot, I don't brush, don't shower, and all that you can do is sit there and write music. Do you even hear me? Or are you a deaf composer? (shouting) How in hell can you compose when you're so deaf to the world? where do your thoughts come from, if you can't hear or see or feel - how do you write about love, when you have none? Stop writing (grabs pen from him and he looks up at her) Look at your eyes, you can't even understand why I took your damn pen. You call yourself an artist!? (laughing to self) An artist, you are an artist, a smartist, hardest, IF YOU ARE SUCH AN ARTIST WHY CAN'T YOU EXPRESS YOURSELF!!!! Speak to me, write a song for me, nod your head if you love me... you can't even do that... (crying)... please, here's your pen (gives him a new sheet of paper) and here's some paper, a brand clean sheet of paper, now if you have any heart in you, write me a Requiem, a death mass, and free me of my body of which I am already two. Make it a peaceful, a quiet mass, let the angels lift me away, gently like a rocking cradle, and forgive me of all my wrongs, make the music forgiving, yes yes, forgiving because I am so sorry for all my wrongs, make it weep for I cry lakes for all those who I hae neglected. I am hanging to my flesh by a strand, pull out the loose tooth and you shall have one less worry. Do it, do it for me (He writes at the top of the page "Requiem in D flat minor"). Thank you, thank you....