A cross with Music

Chapter 2: The Note

A boy walked along a dirt-paved road. The sun lifted itself from earth. Fences past by him gradually as he continued strolling. Crows squawked while flying around his empty field. In the meantime, a wagon moved ahead of him. The person controlling the horses was a dwarfish small man. Bald  head with a rather stout appearance. He had a checkered top with a long jeans. Holding a wheat in his mouth, acting like a veteran farmer. He threw the can he was holding towards the field. It made contact with an electric pole and made a soft chime.

He rummaged through his inner pocket, pulled out a crumpled note that was littered with wet spots. Inside was as written:

Son, if this is you... I would have died already. Please live a austere life. Do not be influence by the negativity of this world.

He crushed it, prepared for a throw. Midway through the course, he arm gone flaccid. And, the paper never left his hand. This is the seventeenth time I read this note. I still don't get why my dad placed me through this torture. He sighed. The tears that were flowing stopped.

He continued taking heavy strides along the muddy path. Turning round a corner, he found himself in his farm, part of his farm exactly.

Time to sow the seeds of life again.

The usual familiar smell of the field made him feel at peace. He sprinkled seeds across his vast land, acres by acres. The sun rose from the horizon to the centre of the sky. His legs began to sore. He was perspiring so much it looks as though he had taken a bath.

Soon, a small soft chime was heard in the distance. It resounded deeply in his head. Its time for lunch. He thought. He set down his seed bag on the floor and took out a bento from his backpack. Rufther always had a talent for cooking. He prefers a variety of food over daily staple food. This idea of bento originated from Japan. He still recalled that time his mom brought him overseas to different parts of the world to learn their food culture. Recollecting this, the incident surfaced to his mind. He stifled his tears and continue munching down his lunch. It was a colourful bento. There was "Japanese" rice he made by grinding his wheat with brown sugar obtained from the nearby town, topped with sesame seeds, which also was obtained from the same location. The meat part of the meal was a Takoyaki, which is a type of food Japanese people eat. It greatly resembles the satay that Muslims are proud of. It is similar to three meatball that is on a stick. Paired along with the meat was a multi-coloured salad. There was a variety of vegetables and fruit in it, such as carrots and white cabbages. Lastly, his homemade mustard to end it off the bento. A bird flew across him as he was about to take a scoop. I should really get a scarecrow soon...

After lunch and a relaxing nap, he resumed his work of sowing the rest of his field.

Half a day past, it was already sundown. His slim figure was once again drench in sweat. His muscle remained tensed while he returned home. A cold evening wind soothed his spirit. He started to relax as he heads home. Now time to relax. he grinned. He started to think about that note again.  Why did my dad wrote this note..? More specifically, why want me to live an unmaterialistic life?! It's akin to torturing... I didn't even know how to even start a fire and yet he wants me to be separated from society and live independently... literally, independently... 

*Ponk*

Ow.... Apparently he walked right into an electric pole (those that carry the electric wires overhead). Rubbing his forehead, he started to tear up again. Ouch... The impact left a distinct red mark. Feeling upset, he sprinted past the pole, towards his home. Why must dad do this to me?!? Tears left a trail on the floor as he ran. 

Night arrived, he finally was back at home, making his dinner. Feeling down, all he made for himself was just a simple rice plus some of his cooked chicken's (dead) meat. Afterwards, he just went straight to sleep.

A soft chime... from the nearby village resounded in his head... It was a beautiful note, neither too high nor too low. An obscured bell tower came to his mind...

Next morning, he had forgotten all about his dream.