Lost Together

Chapter 2 - Echoes

The Musician

His long, elegant fingers drifted slowly over the strings, releasing each an echoing note. A few people stopped to listen to his slow melody, but most moved forward without a glance. He just closed his eyes and accepted the music wholly, ignorant of those who came and went.

"You play very well, young man." The musician opened his eyes to see an older woman staring at him knowingly. He nodded his head and smiled, accepting the compliment. "What weight bears you down?" asked the woman. He frowned and tilted his head to the side, waiting. When she did not respond, he sighed and stopped playing.

"What do you mean, Ma'am?" he asked. She smiled slowly, a sad, slow smile, and reached out to put her hand on his arm. She gave a light squeeze.

"The harp is an honest instrument. It can only be played with emotion, else wise it will sound hollow and forced. Your notes are beautiful and echoing, they are filled with sorrow, melancholy, regret. And the occasional note rings a rather angry tune. There is little happiness in your heart." The musician stared at her and frowned. They stared at each other for a silent minute, then finally he sighed.

"I will not lie nor deny it. You are right. I am not happy. I merely go on. I don't know what it means to be happy anymore. My life has left me bruised and my mind is tormented by things I have seen and done. I can't forget." The woman shook her head.

"The important thing is not to forget it, it is to accept it. And to find what it is that brings you into tomorrow. " She released his arm and walked away, leaving him to play his emotions once more. He watched her leave wonderingly, pondering over her wise words uncertain how he could accept what had happened. It was all far too much.

After a moment he began to play once more, letting him self fade back into the music and away from the world. He took light notice of the how his music mixed with the sound people, as they walked by shuffling their feet, and tapping their heels, and talking. His music escalated into a faster rift, the notes running higher until the people seemed to rush by and time itself ran past. What felt like moments to him became hours, and finally the day was done.

He carefully began to pack up his harp, tracing it's curves and quietly reminiscing of the day he was given it. It had been so long ago, when he was such a different man. He could not believe that he used to hate such a beautiful thing. But that was long ago, when people were always around him, when jests and smiles flowed as easily as water and laughter always rang clear from his throat. When he made of fun of people who played instruments, who did anything that was not considered socially acceptable. He had been the pretty boy, the bully, the athlete. Now he was the unknown.

As he left he thought once more about the woman. There had been something about her, a certain air about her that spoke of destiny. Her words resounded in his mind, something he knew he'd never forget. He couldn't help but wonder how they would affect him, nor could he stop himself from dreaming, if only for a moment, about a day where his harp would not sing with melancholy, but love. A tune that would warm the heart instead of melt it. But it was only a dream.