Malcontents

Cover Malcontents
Wilbanks Malcolm Ehrlich flinched as the heavy, oak door slammed shut behind him. The resultant boom echoed about the cavernous entry chamber, ricocheting into silence. The rainfall and the periodic thunder outside had been eliminated by the building’s thick walls.
He shook the droplets from his umbrella and snapped it shut. Like many old buildings, Henning Hall smelled dank and dusty. Malcolm treated himself to a deep sniff for nostalgia’s sake.
He veered to the left as he had done many times
...before. The walls here were yellowed with age, and toward the ceiling climbed jagged cracks like tree branches, creeping toward ancient chandeliers. Malcolm’s footsteps snapped against the parquet flooring, echoing back to him in marshal rhythm.
It was the same old place.
The unmistakable roar of a full orchestra caused Malcolm to pause mid-step. The music was bold and dissonant. One of the Modern composers then, Bartok perhaps. Or it could be Stravinsky. He never pretended to be an expert even though he appreciated symphonic music and had dated one of the orchestra’s cellists for five years.
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