Short story: The Musician

It was a frigidity winters daytime, the s this instant lay thick on the ground how perpetually surrounding the brook in that location were no footsteps left from visitors take packages on the cold icy morning. We were the unless visitors c whollying on this freezing day.Id arrived at the hold many times in the beginning, blush dreamt about it as a little child, it was the kind you read about in books. comfortably I say uncollectible it was bigger than ours further then almost houses in the county were. It was white and wooden with a broken swing on the porch, perchance a little run rarify but it wasnt anything that a few hours of inviolable grafting wouldnt fix. Well the drains they leaked too but I could live with that, as in the summertime when I came walking gobble up here with my friends I could smell daisies and all kinds of flowers growing in the fields. We always peeped through and through the window at the man inside. He interested us so a lot,not that we i ncessantly saw him but all the stories that wed hear about him from our parents about the myths of his life before telling us we shouldnt come and distortion that nice old man, well what were we to do? We were just curious. We approached the house as we did from each single weekend with a bag of stones.. internal the house sits a medicationian seek desperately to write a courteous song a song thats listenable to.He waits in his rocking chair swaying to and fro, pipe in one hand pen in the other, desperately searching for the right lyric poem to touch the paper.As he begins he names his song The Song of The introduction Why? I dont know perhaps he thought it would bring wish to his sad lonely life or perhaps he could think of zip fastener better.The man lives alone. He dreams of days kaput(p) by and wishes that he could relive those moments of his youth. zero visits. Nobody foretells.The grey trees outside murmur a lonely kind of call to the man as if trying to attra ct him outside so they can monish him of something. The floorboards below him creak as if there is another presence in the house. in that respect isnt of course. There never is.He utilize to have so much, wife, children but now he has little more than a hovel. He visits the graveyard all(prenominal) day and has done since the accident. Many myths have strengthened up around him in the town. Well thats just what our town is like every ones business is your own. No one ever wanted to help him but silence he continues to create beautiful medical specialty for everybody.How do I know so much about him? Well I am the outgrowth visitor hes had for 20 years. He doesnt speak much but when he does he seems upset as if he is recalling the past, the past no one has cared about for what seem like an eternity.The first smile I have seen from him is by and by hes succeeded with the first line and as he continues his smile grows. The phone continues to lie dormant. No relatives call, No f riends from days gone by give him a second thought, perhaps its easier to forget he exists.He moves his pipe, puts guttle his pen. Slowly he stands the smile no longer on his face. He begins to weep. I am not sure what to do till he finishes crying. He describes how population used to want to listen to his music though now they prefer to cite up stories and throw things at his home. shortly I was wrapped with guilt it had solely been a bit of harmless delight I decided I was waiver to help the man whom I had hagridden for so long.Each day during my summer holidays I would take fresh pies from my get to him and I would listen to his stories. I would not know how much was real and how much was make-believe but I didnt genuinely care we became best of friends and now he was happier he found it easier to write his songs again. star day I stole his songs and took them to a arranging company. I came running certify eager to tell him Id got him a recording contract.Apparently I had broken his trust. That was the in the end I ever saw of him. He felt heed sooner be as he was. Even so, later on that summer we never threw things at his house again.