The lights are on me.

The audience is in front of me, but I can't see past the stage's edge.

This is my space. My abode in which I can truly relax and be one with myself. Despite my trembling hand and flushed-red ears saying otherwise, I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

Just me and my violin in an endless expanse of colours.

The excited hues guide my fingers across each string, taking care in reaching the right note. There's no need for worrying about resonance or tone because the painting of colours is with me.

The last bow stroke was emerging and I feel my heart race. It was over.

There was an ocean of applause, and I look at the audience. The lights were blinding; I could barely see the first row. But I know that they're wearing smiles of admiration since even I am.

I glance to the side of the stage and I see my white-clad mother, impatiently waiting by the curtain. I send one last bow to the audience as I exit the stage to my mother.

I start to pack my violin into its case before she talks to me.

"Good, you're done. Let's go." She says, turning her back from me.

"Shouldn't we wait until the competition is over?" I worriedly ask.

"Eli, we have more important things to do than watching amateurs play."

I lower my violin as I follow her.

'She didn't even praise my playing...'

My mother wasn't always like this. Until I reached my teenage years, she would be one of the most supportive people you would know. But I guess her divorce and my career changed her for the worst.

When I was two, I held a violin for the first time. It was an early Christmas morning and it was one of the gifts among the toy cars and dinosaurs I got. It was a recently-manufactured violin, so it looked rather synthetic and glossy. But as I was a dumb two-year-old, I didn't care.

So, I got violin lessons. Obviously, I couldn't play stunningly right away. I had to learn the basics. But once I got the hang of that, everything else was a piece of cake. I was able to play most pieces that adults found hard by the age of 4 or 5. Now, at the age of 17, I'm considered a world-class violinist.

I'm on world-tour at the moment, and I was asked to be a guest for a violin competition. I accepted as I'll happily take up every chance to play the violin. But my mother certainly wasn't pleased about that.

We get to the car, which was, unsurprisingly, a black limousine.

"May I have your luggage?" The Chauffeur asks.

I glance down at my violin case, and I shudder to think of what could accidentally happen to it. It is a Stradivarius, after all.

"No, it's fine. I'll carry it."

He opens the door for me and my mother, and we take a seat.

'I can't wait to get home...'

I watch all the bustling people wander about through my window, and I feel a tinge of jealously. Especially to that one couple holding hands.

'I wish I had a girlfriend.'

I'm not single because I'm ugly, no-no. I'm actually quite handsome. A chiselled jawline and a sharp nose; I've got most of it looks-wise. Although, people tell me I look like a girly boy because of my smile and height. I'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing, to be honest.

I've even been asked out a few times by girls in my school. But I had to refuse each one of them because my mother would kill me if I got into a relationship.

So, I just sigh as I stare out the window. The car starts to move and my mother grabs my attention.

"You shouldn't be looking out the window like that. You're practically screaming, 'Look at me, a famous prodigy!'" She sneers.

'So what, I can't even look out the window now?'

My mother seems to be in a bad mood, and it's days like this where I want to die. Not literally though, that would be painful. But being a bird stuck in a cage is really tormenting.

I internally groan as I stare down the chair in front of me.

'Well, at least I have my violin.'

I quickly look down at it, the tips of my mouth flicking upwards.

But then time went slower.

I look up, and I'm blinded by a light. 'Is that a headlight?'

But once I grasped the situation, it was too late.

The ground was cold. Was it asphalt I was on? I felt a liquid trickle down my face and into my eye. It was stinging, and everything was red. Or was that just my imagination?

I could faintly hear an ambulance siren in the distance.

Everything was beginning to hurt now. My head, my legs and even my abdomen. A soul-crushing throb that wouldn't stop.

'Am I going to die?'

A frantic yelling was getting louder. Presumably, people were about to find me.

But it was too late.

Everything was fading to oblivion.

It was just complete emptiness - not a tinge of light.

But then there was.

There was a flutter of lights and a murmur of voices. And most notably, there were two gentle faces looking over me.

"Let's name him Rei."