As the faint, white light shining from the string got a little brighter, the world turned monochromatic. The faint light shone over the statues who were garbed in black suits and white shirts. Even the violin itself was a dark shade of grey, rather than its usual deep brown.
In the lonely, faint white light, the only thing moving was Z's arm as he moved it back and forth to play the same, single tune. But even when the sound reached a crescendo, and the light shone its brightest, all it could do was reveal a desolate world of grey.
The sound started to fade, its volume slowly decreasing, and the light beginning to dim. It seemed like there was no hope, and no recourse. Yet just as the sound was about to fade back into oblivion, Z's finger moved just the tiniest bit, and his hand swerved just a little.
A second note came into play, and dust fell off the statues - dust that had accumulated over eons of stillness.
