A Songbird's Lament

Chapter 1

Footsteps and high shouts echoed off the narrow cobblestone streets. Panting, Gabriele stooped to catch his breath, a thin sliver of sunlight making his sweat-covered forehead glisten. If he kept running in the same direction, he would find himself inside the rather small town square, with the church on one side and some drunkards outside the tavern on the other. Padre Antonio was probably still relatively angry about that prank he had pulled the other day; no, Gabriele wouldn't risk it. But how swift could a group of intoxicated men and a priest be, especially right after noon? Most definitely not as swift as Gabriele, that was for certain. Either way, he would have to find a good hiding place and fast and an open town square, however small would be one of the worst spots in the entire country. Perhaps he could find a barrel or a secluded alleyway.

Inhaling deeply, Gabriele gathered momentum. His heart pounded within his rib cage. Then, he sprinted for the other side of the square, where he knew another narrow street would be. Just five seconds, that was all Gabriele needed. He was a fast runner; the fastest among his friends. His bare feet burned as they hit the scorching-hot stones beneath him. Exactly as he was passing in front of the fountain, a familiar voice called out to him from outside the tavern.

"Come here, boy."

Gabriele muttered what profanities he knew under his breath and walked over, keeping his head down. Thankfully, there was some shade in front of the tavern. The ground was blissfully cool, Gabriele would have sworn that the bottoms of his feet sizzled with every step he took. It was almost enough to distract him from the fear he felt.

"Yes, father?" he asked, internally praying. 

"Should you not be at home, rather than...whatever it is you're doing?" Gabriele's father squinted, "Make good use of yourself."

"Pssshh, you should pay more attention to yourself, father. Are we not outside a tavern right now?" Gabriele said, getting ready to run. Hopefully, his father would get drunk enough to forget that he said that.

"Listen here," he spat while grabbing the front of Gabriele's shirt, hot breath reeking of cheap ale, "Thank the lord that we're speaking in front've one or you'd be meeting him now,"

Tensing up, Gabriele turned his head away and nodded vigorously. Scowling, his father took a swig from a large bottle he had managed to procure from...somewhere.

"Good," he said gruffly, roughly releasing the boy. Taking this as a cue to make himself scarce, Gabriele ran all the way back home, not stopping once.

The rest of the afternoon dragged on uneventfully. His mother was outside hanging clothes up on a clothesline. Gabriele, with nothing else to do, sat on the floor beside Dante, his younger brother, while he played with some wooden blocks.

With his small hands, he would build towers as tall as himself just to knock them down, oblivious to the loud clattering sound it would make. Gabriele, who was studying his sheet music, would look up every single time.

'Duo Seraphim, clamabant alter ad alt-'

Crash. This would repeat over and over again until a rather irritated Gabriele decided to put his music away for the time being. He should watch Dante anyways to make sure that a stray block didn't fall on his face.

Unsurprisingly, his father returned late, intoxicated as always. And as always, he would shout profanities at him and his mother.

"Margherita, you damned whore! If I was able to, I would've left you 's soon as you told me you were with child, like a revolting, loose harlot!"

"I told you we should have waited, but-"

"Keep quiet, y' filthy wench!"

"You ingrate, I am the one who toils away to keep our children fed while you are out drinking!"

"You dare speak back, woman?"

There was a loud noise that everyone in the house was far too accustomed to. Then a sharp cry of pain.

"Go to sleep, boy!"

As Gabriele lay in bed next to his peacefully sleeping brother, he couldn't help but think of his future. His brother was lucky; born deaf, he didn't have to hear the shouting and the sound of hands striking flesh.

How could he escape? Gabriele had spoken to an older boy--almost man--in the church choir with him by the name of Lorenzo a few times. He was over a decade his senior, a young man of about forty winters, though he looked far younger, and had a barrel-like torso. Gabriele had always thought that he looked rather similar to a large, round beetle with that massive chest of his. There was a procedure, Lorenzo had said, that let him keep his voice so he could sing forever. But he almost sounded sad. The adults had said his singing was like that of an angel but spoke of him with varying levels of disgust or pity in their voices.

He sank into his blanket, eyelids growing heavy. Yes, Gabriele would become an angel like Lorenzo. He would grow large white wings and fly far, far away from this godforsaken town...