A lost soul, forgotten. That was when the melancholy piece of film music, “Forgotten”, came in. It created a beautiful slideshow in my head, leaving me yearning for more. Diving deep into my imagination, I take the movie and uncover the dirt on a touching story.
The violin produces a series of low, soft tunes, matching beautifully with the piano, adding a lighter tone of chords and whispering that he was loved. The calming music soothed his heart, comforted him. I could see his silent hidden tears, and his heart-wracking sobs subsiding. How the tone of the music lifted, arose and dipped again. But then it changes. The tone and his emotions fell. How the music had whispered to him, hugged him. But all was lost. The music hinted of despair, abandoning this lost soul and dove. Every high, calling note in the bar, every thump and turn of the beat, seemed like red hot needles pricking into his heart, reminding him that he had lost his portion of motherly love in his childhood, and for all he knew, eternity.
I could picture him crying on the ragged mattress, crying himself to sleep, numbing himself from the pain. The violin, soft in the background, with each quivering, lingering note hanging in the air, granted him enough strength to gradually restart his life. It grew fainter and slowly gave way to a new day.
And then, in my mind, he wakes up to find the dawn, thesun’s radiant beam pulling open the rags and bequeathing upon his innocent face. The violin was lightly repeating a sharp chord. Oh it was of glamour, of victory, of care and tenderness. It gave him hope, concealed deep in his heart. And that very day, they came, the allied RAF bombers, and announced the three words he had been waiting for in a very, very, long time: You are free! I could see his glowing face, swiftly gaining colour, matching with the marching tune of the piano.
Pause. The music fades out, only to be replaced by a tune of harmony. Each high note accompanied by a low note, giving me a sense of family. Yes he pulled through. His mum had come running through the gates for him. Finally he was bathed in the motherly he had yearned for such a long time, and the piano’s tune grew to one of ascending scale like his emotions.
The lark poured out its soul into the song and the high, wavering notes, just as the boy had poured out its soul to his mother. The music ends, peacefully, with the lark. It brought high, stirring notes that slowly faded into the blue, singing, still singing, singing for him and his mother, singing for harmony, singing for peace.
“Forgotten” inspires me to dare to dream and strive to succeed. Every time this familiar melody rings in my ears I think of this poor little boy and I know how lucky I am, unforgotten, and finding my way on in life.
The music referred to in this text is given in the following Youtube link:
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