The Voice of the Ace

Chapter 1

It was one o’clock in the afternoon. The birds had ceased their singing. The wind has stopped blowing. The atmosphere was silent. A soft, low voice started to sing. The song grew louder and clearer and the wind slowly picked up again, throwing the voice out farther. Although the sun was bright and there were no clouds in sight, the mood was melancholy and sad. The voice, though quiet, expressed years of solitude and experience. Anyone who had the pleasure of listening to the song would feel the calmest, yet saddest they’ve ever felt. Minutes pass, and the song comes to a halt. Once again, the chirping of the birds pick up, and the wind resumes rustling the branches of the trees and bushes. The miracle of the song was over, and the air it caused had faded away, leaving a happy and cheerful mood.

A voice sighed. Every day at one in the afternoon he’d sing his song. The birds were always kind enough to listen and the wind was merciful enough to help project his voice just a little bit farther. The lone figure stood up from his place under his apple tree and walked back into his mansion, where he would stay until one o’clock in the afternoon tomorrow.

The Ace of Spades was a very busy young man, who rarely had time to play. He was in charge of the entire village, and made sure everything went right and nothing went wrong. From day to night he worked, signing papers and holding court sentences and anonymously donating to orphanages. He rarely ate, for he had no time. He was a tall and lanky figure, and very shy. Since he rarely slept, for there was just too much to do, he would come off on others as cruel and antisocial. But he simply didn’t know how to communicate properly, and his appearance would frighten others away. Even his only butler couldn’t talk properly with him.

He was in charge of the entire village, and made sure everything went right and nothing went wrong. He would sign papers and hold court sentences and anonymously donate to orphanages. But he had no one to talk to, for he was a feared yet fearsome man. And so, everyday he’d go out into his spacious backyard and sit under his lone apple tree. He’d take a deep breath, and start to sing his song. He didn’t really know why he’d go out and sing, for his voice was much too low and deep to be heard by passerby. He just felt the need. It was a slight obsession of his, and he absolutely had to go out at one o’clock.

And so, years passed and he sang. Every day of every year, he sang. A day came where he became very ill. Although they rarely talked, the butler had cared for the Ace since he was a little boy. Taking the matter into his own hands, the butler called the doctor. The Ace of Spades was put on bed rest and medication. He wasn’t able to work. He wasn’t able to eat. And he wasn’t able to sing. He was withering away in his bed. His thin face became bony and fragile, and his already pale complexion became yellow with sickness. For the first day in years, he wasn’t able to sing his lonely song under his single apple tree.

“Are you alright, Mister? You didn’t sing your song today.”

The Ace jolted in his bed and looked around frantically for the owner of the unfamiliar voice. His eyes widened as they landed on a young woman. She sat smiling at him from the sofa beside his once closed window. How did she get in? He wondered. My room is on the third floor of this mansion.

“You’re wondering how I got in? Well, that’s easy to see, I got in through the window of course.” She giggled and got up from the sofa, starting to walk closer to the bed.

The Ace could do nothing but lie in wait of her, absolutely petrified. He didn’t know what she wanted from him; he’d never seen her in his entire life. Scared speechless, he watched until she was at his side and knelt down, leveling her face with his. Suddenly, she grabbed his hand, ignoring his weak jolt of shock.

“It’s alright, I won’t hurt you. You’re weak, so you don’t have to talk. Just allow me to keep you company until you can sing again.” And with that, she picked up the book sitting atop his nightstand and began to read out loud.

Her voice was soft, but catching and he couldn’t help but become entranced by the story she was reading. Convincing himself that she was nothing but the hallucinations of a sick man, he fell asleep.