Violins

It was a very strange dream. It was prompted no doubt by a number of half-conversations I've had in the past week and old vampire movies I've watched.

Grown, I was back in high school gym class. The game, as always, was dodgeball. But my school had recently cut its music program, and instead of the usual rubber pile of salmon-colored gym balls, we were presented with string instruments. Violins, cellos, violas, basses, awaiting us in the gymnasium.

"It's easy," the gym teacher said. She wore the same royal blue velour tracksuit she wore in every memory I have of high school. "You smash the violin over someone's head, and then you use the broken neck to stab them in the chest."

I wondered what would happen to the strings; once the violin was broken, would its body dangle from the strings as I attempted to maneuver the neck? I imagined high school students lurching around the gym, broken music pouring from their bodies.

"This is a waste." I explained the obvious to the gym teacher. "Can't we donate these instruments to another school and go back to using dodgeballs?"

As I was waking, I organized a gym walkout. The instruments were saved.