Omnia Vincit Amor

I.

"Omnium rerum principia parva sunt." -Cicero

The beginnings of all things are small.

Brett Yang was only eight years old but he could play the violin as well as a thirty-five year old could, as well. His mother was impressed by his hard work, always supporting him to practice even more and nurturing his natural God-given talents. His father was always a stoic man, he was distant and unaffectionate when it comes to his children but he had once shed a few tears when he heard his son play.

Brett Yang plays the violin as if he already did during his past life. He plays the violin as if he is playing with your emotions. Like twisting the knife that he had buried deep in your chest, pulling it out, cauterizing the wound and sewing it back up as if he was your savior, not the man that stabbed the knife in your chest. In other words, he plays as if he was born for it.

It started small, little Brett Yang was born on March 3, 1840. His parents had him and a younger brother, they were both talented in their own ways. Brett was much more artistic and musical and Alexander was much more analytical and logical. It was evident who was raised by their mom and their dad.

Both of them never really minded, though. They had their own passions and they got along quite nicely, despite having a five year age gap. Brett was always loving and protective toward his brother and his brother appears distant to him but he did love Brett. Both were raised with an equal amount of love but the pressure of their dad was heavier on Alexander.

Their dad never said it out loud but they both knew that they were expected to be lawyers or doctors. Brett knew he wasn't going to succumb into his father's wishes for him as long as he has his mom. Alexander, however, being the one deemed as "academically" smart, was the one who wants to take those types of careers. It's not too bad for Alexander, it is one of his passions after all.

He also understood that his older brother was a man of the arts. Even he saw the talent that his brother carried along effortlessly. Alexander simply understood that Brett was synonymous with art. He couldn't imagine his older brother as something or someone else.

Writing was also one of Brett's greatest crafts. He claimed that it was just a natural thing to write his thoughts and feelings. It was another outlet for his emotions that are sometimes too much for his body, mind and soul to handle. Besides, the best artists are born out of the littlest bit of love until it blossoms into the greatest love of all.

When he turned seventeen, everything changed. His mother died of cholera at the age of forty-five years old. He felt his world crumble beneath him as if the world was ending. He felt as though all the art that he dedicated to his mother was not art anymore, rather it was merely compositions, ink on paper and nothing else. All the love that it used to hold was nothing now.

He tried to show Alexander that it never broke him too much. He didn't want the younger boy to feel what he feels as their father was already grieving the death of his wife. Brett has to stay strong for their family since his father was the one mostly falling apart. It was not obvious since their father was cold and stoic but the moment that she died, it was the first time Brett and Alexander had seen him cry.

It broke Brett's heart as much as he did not admit it. Everything that he was and everything that he did was a product of his mother's love so how will he continue now? How will Brett keep on going when his mother was long gone?

Is not love suppose to conquer all? What happened, Ma? Why can't Pa get back up? Why can't Alexander stop crying at night? Ma, why is pa drinking too much now? Is not his love for you enough to get him back up? Why can't I seem to create art now that you are long gone?

Brett thought as he stopped his father from drinking alcohol. His father threw the glass on the floor and upon impact, it shattered. It shattered, like his father's sanity and heart. It shattered, like his dreams of becoming an artist. It shattered, like Alexander's love for our mother.

"Why do you take alcohol away from me, my boy? It's the only thing that removes the pain." Brett's father said, standing up from the dining chair and walking unsteadily towards Brett.

Brett grabbed his arm to help him up and he decided not to answer his father. He supported his father's body to lead towards their, now only his, bedroom. Brett had seen this happen before, it was not new. He changed his father's clothes and tucked him under the covers. Brett did not know but Alexander saw how Brett was struggling to get his father to bed and was about to help him.

"It will be fine, Alexander. I can do it by myself. Fix yourself up and get ready for bed. I will be there after I tend to Pa." Brett said, coaxing the younger boy to bed. Alexander followed suit, not wanting to add to Brett's problems.

Alexander, despite being raised predominantly by their father, was empathic. Of course, he was still Mama Yang's son and no son of her will be heartless. He was also smart and mature for his age.

Brett tucked his father in the bed and allowed him to sleep. He knew that his father will have a headache tomorrow so he boiled water before going into Alexander's bedroom. He avoided the shards of glass on the kitchen floor and proceeded. He went to Alexander's bedroom just to check on the boy.

He kneeled down next to the boy's bed and brushed his hair back. The boy smiled and sat up, hugged his brother tightly and Brett could feel the teardrops on his neck. He rubbed the boy's back and held him back. When the young boy pulled away, Brett wiped his tears away with his thumb.

"Don't cry. I will be right here, little Alexander. You shall come to me when you need or want something. I will always be here. Stop crying now." Brett comforted. The boy lied back down on the bed and buried himself underneath his blankets.

"Could you sing to me, please? Just like Ma did before?" Alexander said, looking up at Brett with innocent eyes. They were still red and glassy from the tears.

Brett wanted to refuse, he really did. Yet he can't refuse the young boy who just cried on his shoulder. So, Brett hummed the second movement of Mendelssohn's violin concerto in e minor. It was one of the melodies that his mother always sang to him when he was seven. He was learning that concerto at the time and it got stuck on his mother's head. It sounds much more haunting now than it did before.

When Alexander fell asleep, Brett kissed his forehead and tiptoed out of the room. He turned off the water he boiled and put it in a pitcher to cool. He picked the glass up carefully, not wanting to give himself wounds to treat. The melody of Mendelssohn still haunting his head as his mother's voice was all that he could hear.

After finishing the task, he puts a cup of water on his father's nightstand and leaves it there to cool. God knows that his father will need it after drinking copious amounts of alcohol. He left the room and closed the door quietly. The moonlight was shining down in their living room, his violin had long been untouched. The varnish was illuminating the moon's glow.

Brett could not stand to look at it. It seemed as though his ability to play died alongside of his mother. He looked down on the ground, not realizing that he had shed a few tears already. He quietly walks to his bedroom, tucks himself in and drowns himself in the comfort of his blankets and the warm tears falling from his cheeks.

He looks at the moon that is glowing above. The wind whispered to him, hearing his mother's voice from his childhood.

"I love you, Brett."

He stopped looking at the bright moon but he continued to cry. He sunk himself deeper into the blanket and held on tightly to a pillow. He cried and cried  until he felt like he could not anymore. He tried to forget the remnants and memories of his mother but he simply could not. So, he lulls himself into a dreamless sleep, hearing his mother's voice hum the Mendelssohn violin concerto, second movement.