Breaking Loose [Original]

6

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Six
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Dedicated to

JOY.

Was the only thing the giddiness in his gut and ecstasy in his heart could be classified as.

Oren knew that feeling, he was used to it. It came pulsating through his veins every single time his blessed fingers strummed skillfully against his acoustic guitar.

It often started out as a tiny fire in the pit of his stomach, something called desire and then as the sensation got wilder, grew into something unquenchable. People often felt the impact of playing their guitars in the arms-mostly fingers-but Oren felt it in every part of his body, he felt it even in the depths of his soul.

He blessed the name of the Lord over and over for every opportunity he had to play his songs, every moment he had to praise his God. He truly cherished it.

He slowly and very smoothly finished his song, feeling breathless, then slowly opened his eyes to see if the joy had diffused.

The abrupt applause and whistles that echoed in the room confirmed that it indeed had diffused. That in itself, brought him a whole different type of joy.

"Oren, you have to play for us tomorrow night...and probably the rest of the week-if you're fine with it, that is" the huge man towered over him, with a gentle hand to his shoulder.

He simply smiled "That's fine, Mr Moore."

"Oh please," he chuckled "Call me Harry"

Oren nodded, he wasn't sure how to address older people by their first names yet. It was quite weird.

That's not how he was brought up.

"Yeah" Harry nodded and leaned in to add "there's someone I'm having around by this hour tomorrow. Things like this, it's what she needs" he pulled back with that same smile that made him appear youthful " Do I get you something for the walk home?"

"An espresso would do," The younger man grinned

The man nodded and walked back to the counter.

Oren watched the cafe with a satisfied look. People started plying out the doors but the energy and warmth from his mini show still sat over the room.

He mumbled a little prayer of gratitude to God before getting off the high stool and packing up his guitar into its case.

When he was on the sidewalk again, he couldn't help but soak in everything beautiful the town had to offer.

Birchwood Bay had been a blessing to him. Even if he'd just recently landed in Canada he felt like he was coming home. Everyone was open to him and he didn't want to think it was because of his good looks. They loved his music, it's what they'd always told him. It's how the his name went around.

He dragged his feet in order not to be too fast. He was enjoying the night breeze. He enjoyed watching the stars dot the skies above him, he loved watching the tall ancient looking buildings that were partially hidden in the night, he loved the silence.

When he no longer felt at peace back in London, he knew it wasn't bad luck. He knew he needed a change of environment. Canada had always topped the list in countries he'd wanted to visit, it made it easy to decide where he was going when he finally had to leave the country he'd spent eight tragic years.

Tragic yes, because, well, everyone can't have good stories. Saints were once devils and devils were once saints. In his case, it was the former.
His past was...a lot. He'd buried it the most he could but it is not possible to bury it all, right?

It was something he learnt from. The nasty tattoos that trailed his arms, they taught him that God could change just anyone, doesn't matter how wasted they are.

He pulled out his phone and it was already after 12am. He'd wondered how long he'd been walking. It was also off that he was on the streets by such unsafe hour but he remembered this was a different place, a different environment. A rather small and quiet town where everyone seemed to get by just fine. He just knew he'd make it there.

He crossed the road when he got to the junction, he'd decided to use the alternate route back home. Just for the fun of it.

He pulled his headphones over his ears and hummed to his song, the energy and desire still lingering as he snapped his fingers and sang lowly.

He couldn't imagine a world without music. Even in his next life.

Music, after God, kept him going.

Just along the street, the magnificent building that housed the biggest performance center in central Canada came to view. He'd mused over seeing himself play there one day.

He watched the dome in awe, coming to an abrupt halt when he noticed something unusual.

He took two steps back and turned to the side, his brows jumping in slight shock.

There was someone there, someone he was very sure he couldn't have seen if he wasn't that close. And they were openly painting on one of Yates fine walls.

Vandalism, he thought.

That was certainly a thorn to all the goodness the small town radiated. Birchwood didn't look like the town to keep the cops up on their heels.

But there was some dude, dressed like the night, harassing that beautiful brick wall.

He turned fully, half surprised the person didn't seem to notice. He took a careful step forward and squinted at the painting itself.

It was... beautiful?

He bit his lower lip to hide the impressed smile he almost pulled. He wasn't supposed to be rooting for a crime.

Neither was he going to turn around and walk away like it wasn't his business. It really wasn't, he had a long nap to take, he had a gig to rehearse for the next evening, yet a few minutes to address the issue didn't hurt.

So before he could conclude his thoughts the words: "So beautiful, yet so wrong" tumbled out of his mouth.

The dude stilled, the brush falling to the ground before they looked over their shoulder.

Oren couldn't make out their face because of course they were masked and hooded.

Typical.

He forced the awkwardness he felt down and completed his sentence "...don't you think?"

Whoever it was seemed scared to the bone, like he was some police which he almost admitted he wasn't.

Somehow the silence gave him the courage to speak up once more. "Vandalism is bad, you know" and no less than a second after, the masked guy crouched down to gather his things and run, seeming to be in too much haste to hear something drop.

He watched the guy run in amusement, "What kind of guy runs like that?" He blurted out partially confused. He looked on until the guy disappeared from his view and he was left alone in that street.

He was going to leave when he walked over to where he heard an object drop.

It was a black mop brush with the letter 'A' inscribed upon it, rather roughly.

***