The Organist

The bright lights of Vespin School practically killed Lyric Spenge as she walked through the place. She was used to the sun shining on those very bright days, but in all the years she had been inside of Vespin School, she had never gotten used to all the white that inhabited the place. The dresses. The suits. The halls and the banners. Nothing was made of soothing colors. Everything had to be expensive.

Blues, whites, and pinks stood out against the stone walkways in Vespin. A golden laurel wreath hung on Lyric’s head. It shined as she walked past, pinning down her brown hair. Everyone wore the things, but she was one of the only people in the entire school who wore such a color. She was made to do so, of course.

Lyric understood the world around her. How people moved and why they did the things they set out to do. She understood how she’d never be able to accomplish any of the things her forefathers did. She’d never be able to walk straight in a world full of lies and nothing but hatred.

How could a place like Vespin teach hate so prolifically, when the doctrine that governs it practically bans it completely?

The world was such a confusing place, but Vespin was worse. Vespin was a problem. A problem that she would have to deal with. A problem she wanted to hide from. A problem not of her making. Why would she try to fix something another set up horribly? But her sense of love was too strong, and her anger was apparent.

They said she would inherit the city itself when she became the heir, yet she didn’t want anything to do with it. She wanted to get as far away as possible from such a vile place. There was no reason to love such a despicable city, but she opened herself up to it.

It was her home.

Conversations burst out in the hallways, most of the people wearing silver laurel wreaths on their heads. She simply called those people the gossips, because it seemed that was all they were good for. Most of them wore suits or big dresses that she had a hard time stepping around. Such a contrast to her simple one.

A few girls in their extravagant dresses talked with the boy in front of them, “Have you heard what happened to Dilyra?”

The boy turned quickly, “No! What happened?”

“She is set to try and get Chalvin!” one of them said.

The boy gave the one who said that an odd look, “Really? He’s only after power. Dilyra has very little compared to that Spenge girl. He’s always been after that one. You know that very well. A conquest from his parents’ words, of course.”

“Perhaps, but Dilyra is convincing!” another one of the girls said, “She has always had every single boy she’s ever wanted. I would be shocked if she couldn’t get Chalvin.”

“Dilyra doesn’t have as much money, and she’s not the first born. Chalvin is a social class climber. He might talk to her, but he certainly would never admit it to anyone, even himself, if he liked Dilyra,” the boy argued back, “It would be like a scandal to his family.”

Scandals were not common in Vespin. At least, not the scandal she was imagining. Scandals were murders gotten away with due to a bribe, in Lyric’s mind. Not some boy marrying a girl who is just of slightly lesser power than him.

That’s all the world came down to. People in power who shouldn’t be there. That was what Lyric saw herself as. It was the truth, of course. Nothing of the sort would be tolerated in her mind. She would never inherit a place so indifferent about the things that went on inside of it.

In truth, Vespin was not just one city, but two. Two completely separate places. Two separate worlds. Two problems she knew her good conscience would make her eventually fix. She would relent with all that she had, but one way or another she would find herself in the middle of a war of minds.

Lyric knew her calling. Deny it, she did. But there was nothing she could do more.

Thankfully, she got out of the pristine white hallways. She had never really appreciated their beauty, mostly because they had been saturated with the sorrows of those who could not attend the school whatsoever. In a way, she figured it was supposed to make her more grateful that she was there. It did not. It made her want to ask the rich people who ran the school to fix whatever they had done to make it that way. Or worse, try to fix it herself by ending up on that committee later in life. It was like a death sentence.

Lyric clasped her hands as she walked into Mr. Agin’s class. She couldn’t help but let out a small smile, more than what most got from her. She loved his class. It was the only thing about the school that she even liked. The only reason she hadn’t begged to be away from the place.

Most people would again call her ungrateful, since school only lasted for four hours and there were only three classes. She didn’t have to worry about doing hard, back-breaking labor. Yet, dealing with the rich people made her want to beg for any job away from the school. Lyric was rich, but she certainly wasn’t like other rich people. She wasn’t stuck up or rude just because of her money. That made her an odd sight at anything social or anything that had anything to do with money. There had been word spread saying that when she was given her inheritance, she wouldn’t be able to manage it. She couldn’t help but find truth in those claims, since she’d probably give it all away.

Mr. Agin’s class was always practically empty. There were five people who attended. Three were just there because they needed enough credits to graduate. None of them paid any attention, which wasn’t surprising. Indifference rose along the land like someone with a sprayer. No one cared about anything that went on.

If you did, like Lyric, you were dubbed insane. She couldn’t help but think that perhaps she was.

She could tell by the state of his clothing the first time she walked into cultural studies that Mr. Agin was a poor man. He had a drawing of two children plastered on the wall and was probably one of the most integrated poor people she had ever seen. Most poor people never got to work at the school, just volunteers. They worked out of the goodness of their hearts. They wanted recognition; applause, even.

“Hello class,” he uttered quietly as we all sat down.

The majority of the class put their heads down to go to sleep. There was nothing he could do about it. It was disgusting to see, but everyone would rather them go to sleep than to contradict what he was saying. The people actually listening needed to hear him. He knew that. He used it to his advantage.

“Today, we are going to learn about Vespin itself. We are going to learn about the division. As you know, I am poor. I don’t live on this side of town. Today’s class is showing the division and how that division was caused,” he said.

She couldn’t help but smile about the topic. It would actually be interesting that time. Of course, nearly everything he talked about was something interesting, but sometimes he only talked about what the rich people did. Nothing of the poor. She wanted to know everything about the poor and what made them so important. She was intrigued, to say the least.

“The people on this side of the city stay on this side of the city, so you do not know about what goes on in the other side. Vice versa applies to that, yet more poor go to rich than rich to poor.

Our first topic is the poor. The poor often live in houses with upwards of ten people in them. The houses are small shacks. The children are starving. The streets are dirty and unsafe. You get the point of what I’m saying.

You all know how the rich live. You yourselves are rich. You live extravagantly, with large mansions. The streets are clean and there are stores on every corner. Moreover, there is no middle class in Vespin. There hasn’t been for a very long time.

The division separates the whole city in half. West to the rich, and poor to the right. The only way that people come together is during cathedral services on Sunday. That is it. Even then, we are still divided. Poor sit to the east of the church. Rich sit to the west. It’s very sad, but that is simply how it goes around here.”

He went on about how the split creates tension between the two halves, which he implied as separate cities. Mr. Agin knows the truth about Vespin. The name that loosely binds to halves into a whole. Lyric listened intently to every single word. Mr. Agin knew that she was the one who was listening too.

Soon, class was over and the rest of the people ran out of the room as quickly as they could. She stayed behind this day. She needed to ask him one thing. One thing that was important to her. Perhaps important to him too.

“Mr. Agin? What could aid in the creation of a middle class?” Lyric questioned.

He looked up to the ceiling, “It’s a rather long answer. Perhaps I will make tomorrow’s class about that. It will be very interesting to you.”

“Thank you,” she whispered

“Miss Lyric, I hope you know that you’re different from most regular rich people,” Mr. Agin spoke, looking down at a journal he had.

She nodded, “I do. It’s obvious.”

“Will you be at cathedral services on Sunday?” he questioned.

“Yes,” she told him, as always.

“I will see you there,” he informed her.

Just like that, she left the classroom. The pressure in her head immediately dropped as she realized that she was not in school any longer. That was what she needed most. She needed a break from other people. A break from talking to the rich and seeing the laugh. A break from hearing the silence of the poor and seeing them lose all hope.

But in Vespin, there were never breaks.