Abandoned • Teenlock

Chapter Four • A New Melody

John waded through the mud coating his path, trying not to slide on the slippery brown earth. He trudged his way up the hill, shoulders hunched against the wind. His ears stung at the force of the air whipping against his face. The trees whistled around him, the leaves singing as they rustled on the branches. John felt calmer here, even though the weather was trying to batter him into the ground, it was serene.

Coming to his usual spot, John found he couldn't sit. A layer of slippery mud coated the patch of grass that overlooked the town. John paused there anyway, taking in the buildings below. It was a scaled down version of his life, a toy-town. It seemed so innocent spread out below his feet, like a model village in a museum that children come to trample on. He wished that's what it was really like down there. He wanted it to be idyllic. 

Huffing out steamy breaths that got lost on the wind, John continued along the path. He never usually walked further, but he couldn't sit down and he wanted to waste some time before he had to face going home. After another ten minutes along the narrow path he was lead into trees once more. As he worked his way through the shrubbery he made out a building on the other side that he'd never seen before. Working his way closer, one look at the empty windowpanes and crumbling roof tiles told John that the house hadn't been lived in for a long time.

Curiosity took hold and suddenly John was desperate to see inside. He walked underneath the upstairs window, peering up to see the rooms within. As he did, a long, lean shadow was thrown against the wall and John jumped out of his skin. He backed off rapidly, almost falling backwards into the bushes. He peered up to the window again gingerly, heart in his mouth. The shadow danced against the wall again, as if whoever cast it was waltzing around the room. Irrational as it was, John couldn't help but imagine the figure was a ghost and readied himself to run back home, but something stopped him in his tracks. Musical notes were carried towards his ears and and eerie melody picked up, the notes dancing with wind. John was frozen to the spot; Not even the mud could dislodge him.

He watched attentively as a ghostly boy appeared at the glassless window. For a moment, the boy's deathly pale skin fooled John, and he almost screamed, thinking he was witnessing a supernatural phenomenon. He soon came to his senses and realised the boy with the violin was very much alive. John took him in carefully, noting the unruly mop of inky-black curls that gave a shocking contrast against his white face, and the long limbs that should have been uncoordinated and gangly, but were as graceful and elegant as anything John had seen before. He was thin, too thin, like a stick figure in a child's drawing. John had never seen anybody like him, he was completely entranced as the boy lazily pulled the bow across the strings of the violin, drawing out the most beautiful sounds. Wearing an expression of relaxed contentment, he didn't seem to be thinking about what his fingers were doing, he was just lost in the music, his eyes firmly shut as he drank in the notes.

John watched him from the muddy grass below until he finished his last song. Not wanting to be seen, John quickly turned on his heel and began to make his way home. Stepping carefully over the mud as he went.