10 Minute Tales

Apr 22 - Stormsong

Vincent looked to the skies, a dull grey sheet that had been draped over the world. For weeks, now, those clouds hand hung ominously, but not a single drop of water had taken the plunge to earth. The fields were starting to suffer, and where the fields suffered, the people suffered. He had been told all his life not to use his power, but it was clear that there was no choice.

"Grandpa." he attempted to get the old man's attention. There was no response; likely, he was sleeping in his favourite chair again. "... I have to, Grandpa. They need me. They need a Weather Composer again." the old man snored slightly. "Please, Grandpa, don't stop me." Vincent sighed. "We both know this day has been overdue. I'm going." he turned to the door. The old man wouldn't have heard any-

"Take the knife." the old man muttered, as awake as he had ever been. Vincent turned to look again.

"Grandpa..." he grew quiet and smiled. "Thank you."

"It shouldn't be you." he grumbled. "Someone with more experience. Someone better suited."

"The only other person I know who could even come close to helping us now is gone." he frowned. "They took Dad, didn't they? They take anybody with what they consider as power."

"Mm. 's why I don't want you to go."

"But I have to."

"Yup." The air grew still, holding on to the tension and the silence.

"... I'm... I'm going."

"Gods guide you." the old man muttered, shuffling to go back to sleep. A snore chased Vincent out of the door as it clicked shut.

The street was quiet, cool and dirty. He cleared his throat quietly, preparing to warm up. He had made up a couple of songs before, sure, but he'd only dabbled in the proper songs once, and that had caused a week of fog - and a month of paranoid hiding, desperately concealing themselves against the forces he only knew as "them." They had kidnapped his father as soon as they had identified him; he hadn't heard from them or him since. Vincent frowned as he hummed a couple of notes, trying to channel the anger into creativity, the sorrow into passion. The song wouldn't need too much energy, thanks to the clouds above, but they would need something to keep the weather moving, keep the natural energy flowing. Wind would help, rain would be apparent... he paled a little as he came to the conclusion he had been juggling with for a while. This wouldn't be any old weather song, this would have to be a storm song. He swallowed nervously as he tried to cobble some lyrics together, humming basic notes for a melody. No, it needed more, it needed...

"Well, now, who's this?" a voice crowed behind him. One he didn't recognise. He turned, to see a group of thugs rounding the corner, grinning toothily without a hint of joy. Whatever his storm song needed, it wasn't this.