A boy and his music
Sept 24, 2007 0:37:53 GMT -5
Post by hisdivineshadow on Sept 24, 2007 0:37:53 GMT -5
A small boy scanned the streets, light brown eyes sweeping nervously back and forth. He found an empty street corner near the marketplace, and quickly moved to take it. As he stood on the corner, anxiously glancing around, he decided that it would do -- it wasn't a heavily-traveled part of the city, but it still had a good number of people moving past.
Silently, he set a small wicker basket on the curb and tossed some coins into it, then drew a well-crafted silver flute out from under his ragged, dingy shirt. Grabbing a small cloth from his belt, he quickly wiped the instrument off, then wiped his hands as well before tucking the rag back where he'd gotten it. A few people, wandering past, glanced curiously at the boy and his expensive-looking instrument, but for the most part he hadn't been noticed.
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and, with trembling fingers, lifted the flute to his mouth. Holding it delicately, he blew a few practice notes, then started to play.
The sound that issued forth was like crystalline silk, beautiful enough that nearly everyone in hearing range immediately stopped and turned to look. Although the boy’s eyes were closed, he could feel the stares, as if they were burning right into and through him. A bit of panic began welling up in his chest. What if he messed up? What if he blew a wrong note, or worse, forgot the music?
He struggled to suppress his worries and focus on the music. The music was all that mattered, the music was his life. To others, he may have been a dirty, wretched little street urchin, but they didn't matter. Nothing mattered but him and the music.
Silently, he set a small wicker basket on the curb and tossed some coins into it, then drew a well-crafted silver flute out from under his ragged, dingy shirt. Grabbing a small cloth from his belt, he quickly wiped the instrument off, then wiped his hands as well before tucking the rag back where he'd gotten it. A few people, wandering past, glanced curiously at the boy and his expensive-looking instrument, but for the most part he hadn't been noticed.
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and, with trembling fingers, lifted the flute to his mouth. Holding it delicately, he blew a few practice notes, then started to play.
The sound that issued forth was like crystalline silk, beautiful enough that nearly everyone in hearing range immediately stopped and turned to look. Although the boy’s eyes were closed, he could feel the stares, as if they were burning right into and through him. A bit of panic began welling up in his chest. What if he messed up? What if he blew a wrong note, or worse, forgot the music?
He struggled to suppress his worries and focus on the music. The music was all that mattered, the music was his life. To others, he may have been a dirty, wretched little street urchin, but they didn't matter. Nothing mattered but him and the music.