A Mermaid, the Prisoner of Music

The scene of the stage is concrete, grey and splattered through with black gummy circles. Brandon Holcombe charges the stands, purple flag of the colorguard glowing brightly in his left hand. He mocks me with words I cannot hear, but they cut nonetheless. How can it be that I have reverted here to this place I thought I had escaped so thoroughly, a hell of ridicule and anger and hate? I stand in silence as his diatribe continues, the torrent only broken when gunfire echoes off the limestone walls.
Dull bleachers melt away and I stand frozen when I see a gun pointed at me, a black barrel the current god of my universe. The car, the goods, my father - all are there in the blink of an eye and the skinny chocolate man aiming fate in my direction hauls the bundle in his arms into the trunk of my grey compact, swerving his intent to my father instead.
I hear the blast, feel it even, but as I sink to the damp grass I realize my lifeblood remains intact. Again, again, the shot sounds. A scream of agony but it is not mine. I look up from my hazy nest on the ground and see my father, three wounds spewing redness, but I do not move. I know the men will leave if only I play dead.
The peal of old brakes in the distance and in the silence that follows I haul myself to my father, weeping, afraid, urgent. We must go inside the mansion, the one looming now right before us, for it is there that our safety lies.
I fashion a sling from my stockings for my father's arm and we limp through the massive wooden door and into dark tunnels. People appear from every corner, torches held above their heads and I almost weep with joy. They lead me to the weapon room, a woman bidding me choose wisely.
"These," I say, hurriedly removing the intricately designed, oversized letter openers from their stand.
"Yes," said my new friend solemnly, her black eyes bright. "Its true danger lies with its master. Now go! Save the mermaid!"
I am pushed along in a group so large I lose sight of my father, his name drowned by the war cry from the sea of angry people. Black tunnels pierced through with momentary sun are my one comfort for hours, exhaustion imminent and desperation for the end digging cold nails into my skin.
And then suddenly, finally, there is light, and its luminescence shines brightly off the polished surfaces of countless pianos, all glamorous beyond dreams. The room is large, open, and we weave our way through the grand instruments stopping only when we find the mermaid, the enchanted prisoner of music. It is she we must free.
Fair is her skin, dainty is her mouth, and the scales of her tail glitter emerald in the white light. She lays a sad gaze on the flimsy troupe before her, unaware that we are her freedom. No one speaks, but the music plays seamlessly from the hundreds of surrounding pianos, and through the magic of the melody, her chains are broken, the dawn of her escape.
Joy spreads through the graceful mermaid and she lifts her hands in ardent praise.

And then I woke up.