Thursday, February 16, 2012
Friday, November 20, 2009
Chapter 1
The Encounter
The rain had stopped early that morning. Chalmit got up and looked out the small cottage pane windows into the neatly trimmed garden outside. The trees still swayed in the gentle breeze, the worst of the storm was over, and the fine drizzle made a halo around the moon as it tried to peep out from behind the low clouds. She leaned her forehead on the cold glass and watched the water droplets race each other to the bottom of the window. She gently lifted her hand and traced one of the droplets with the tip of her finger, as it raced the other droplets.
“Chose the wrong one again.” She smiled turning around and getting back into bed. She shivered as she pulled the covers up around her nose. She could still see the moon from her bed. The clouds drifted past it changing its shape. Her mind drifted to a conversation she had overheard in the manor house yesterday.
Chalmit suddenly felt really excited, Gypsies in their area. The master’s voice had sounded harsh and his face had shown open disgust as he complained to Sir Pendleton, about the Gypsies that had moved onto the common just south of the woods. She wondered why people hated them so much and accused them of being dirty thieves, and bringing disease, to all those around them.
She was sure that they were not like this and was determined to find out for herself,
Chalmit was tall for her fourteen years with long shiny coal black hair. Her eyes were the colour of dark amber, and her left eye was particularly striking it had a gold fleck in it the shape of the crescent moon. Chalmit stayed with her aunt and uncle in the cottage on the manor estate, right next to the lake. Her Uncle worked for Lord Scattergood as the Gardner and her Aunt was the head of house keeping staff. They were simple and kind folk, very religious and always willing to help others where and when they could. That is why when Chalmit’s mother had turned up on their doorstep late one cold and rainy night; they took her in immediately. When her mother was taken away for fear that, she would give the rest of the family consumption; her Aunt and Uncle willingly kept Chalmit on and treated her as if she were her own daughter.
People always fussed over Chalmit and commented on her amasing beauty. This didn’t faze her; in fact she was rather embarrassed and felt very uncomfortable by all the fuss. She thought she was just a normal girl with hair and eyes that weren’t the same as the people around her.
She was the first one down for breakfast, the huge coal stove along the far wall made the kitchen warm and cozy. Her Aunt placed the still steaming slices of bred on the table; she sliced some cheese from the bright red wedge, on the cutting block and placed it on the plate next to the bread. Her Aunt smiled warmly as Chalmit snuggled up next to her arm and kissed her good morning on the cheek.
“Morning young lady, did you sleep well, what with the storm and all.” She said in voice that had a hint of the Irish accent Chalmit had heard so often at the fair in the village.
“Yes thanks you, you know I love it when it storms.” She said as she pulled out the stool from under the kitchen table. She checked herself, walked over, and helped her Aunt with the tea try bringing it to the table. She placed it gently on the table and sat down.
“Has Unclely left for the Manor already?’ She asked as she spread a thin layer of butter on the slice of bread. Chalmit had called her uncle ‘Unclely’ since she could remember. It was a bit of a family joke. When she was still small, she could not say both the names together so Uncle Lyle became Unclely.
“Yes, Sir Scattergood, summoned him just as the sun was coming up.” She nodded. “I think they are concerned about the sheep in the bottom field, they’ll be bringing them closer to the Manor, what with those Gypsies moving into the common .“ Her voice had taken on a slight tone of disapproval.
Chalmit looked up from her breakfast; she looked at her Aunt, the question slipped out before she could check herself.
” What’s makes Gypsies so bad?” She regretted her tone as soon as she asked the question.
Her Aunt’s eyes grew stern as she looked at Chalmit. “You be careful around them do you hear, they are not to be trusted!”
“Yes Maam,” Chalmit said obediently as she lowered her eyes.
“So will you be coming with me to the Village this morning? “Said her Aunt changing the subject, her voice had gone back to the calm warm loving tone Chalmit was used to.
Chalmit was quiet for a while, when she answered she made sure her voice was even and matter of fact.
“ No thanks Taunt, I think I’ll take a walk down to the bottom field and watch Unclely bring the sheep in, if that’s alright with you?” she said taking a bite of the bread and enjoying the sharp taste of the cheddar cheese.
“Mmmm… just don’t get in the way. You know how fussy Sir Scattergood can be.” She said as she poured the tea.
“Promise.” She said and wrapped her slender hands around the steaming cup of tea.
After clearing the table, Chalmit almost skipped to her room. Hurriedly she washed and dressed, and left the cottage from the back door. She skipped and walked to the back gate and moved off in the direction of the bottom field. Once she was out of sight of the cottage, she changed direction and walked towards the road. Climbing through the hedgerow, which ran along the length of the road all the way to the common near the forest, she walked out on to the muddy road?
She ran, and then walked along the road jumping over the puddles trying not to get mud on her shoes. She wondered what she would find at the common when she got there. Would they be as dirty as people gossiped? Would they be as ugly as people said they were? Her heart was full of excitement, wonder, and yes even a little fear.
As she rounded the corner and the hedgerow fell away, the brightly coloured caravans came into view. It immediately struck her how well kept they seemed to be and just how tidy the camp site looked. The caravans were more than she had anticipated; they were beautiful. Each van had its own colours and designs, the flower and details on the doors and around the windows was breath taking, and that was what she could see from this distance, she was longing to see them close up. She hesitated as she approached the opening in the fence that surrounded the common. Why was she so keen to see these people? What was driving her curiosity? She had nothing in common with them.
So, what was the attraction? She looked at the caravans in the circle, there was no one about, every thing was quiet, and there were no dogs about, that seemed odd as her Uncle had said that there were always dozens of scrawny dogs about with them.
She carefully stepped over the shallow ditch and moved slowly closer to the caravan that stood apart from the others. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw a movement behind the caravan. She giggled softly to her self as she recognized a horse as it walked into view. She caught her breath, it was magnificent, it was huge, bigger than any horse she had seen, even the masters racing mare was no match for size. It was so black it shone purple in the sunlight. There was only one marking on his otherwise jet black coat, and that stood out so clearly because of its odd colour, it was a light brown crescent moon on its forehead. It was truly magnificent, the main and tail were neatly combed and platted, but not cut like the horses she had come to know. She stood there for a short while just admiring the animal. Chalmit turned her head on the side as if she were willing an answer from the beautiful animal,
“Why are you so well kept, if every one tells me that Gypsies mistreat their animals?” she whispered with a smile.
As if in answer, the stallion shook and tossed his head backward, turned and walked off toward the trees. Chalmit instinctively made the same movement with her head and started to walk toward the closest caravan.
She approached the caravan cautiously; still looking around to see if there was anybody around, every thing was quiet. She took a step toward the stairs of the caravan, as she touched the hand rail a deep sadness swept over her, the tears welled up in her eyes, and the feeling was so intense she instinctively took a step backward. She caught herself staring at the steps, not understanding the feeling she was experiencing. As she lifted her eyes, they rested on the violin that was propped against the deep red wall of the caravan just to the left of the stable door. Not even the shiny gold detail painting on the bright red door could distract her. She was inexplicably drawn to it, it pulled at her heart, and she just had to touch it. She moved closer still, the dull warm glow of the maple wood gleamed in the sunlight. The shape of the instrument and the resin powder under the strings seemed to talk to her heart, and touch her soul.
She raised her hand very slowly, the tips of her fingers brushed the gleaming wood, there was an excitement the flowed through her finger to the very center of her being, she had the deepest desire to pick it up and play it. She hesitated,
“Don’t be silly Chalmit”, she mumbled to her self “you never played one of these in your life.”
However, the desire was just too much she just knew inside that she could do it, she lifted the instrument, and passed it under her chin, and she felt as if it were made for her. It fitted like a glove. It felt warm and comfortable. She leaned forward and took up the bow. It was surprisingly heavy, but her petite little hand closed over it comfortably, her left hand closed around the neck of the instrument, the smooth warm wood nestled into the palm, her fingers seemed to be led to the strings. She hesitated; her small slender fingers depressed the strings, her fingers seemed to have a life of their own.
Almost instinctively, she drew bow down and away from the violin. The sound startled her at first but it was so sweet and clear it hung in the air. She looked down at the instrument not quiet sure what to make of the beautiful sound she had just produce from an innate piece of wood
The clatter of the caravan stable door being swung open brought her sharply back to reality. Her head snapped up and she looked into the face that glared out from the gloom of the caravan interior. Chalmit felt as if she was frozen in time by the fear that gripped and knotted in her stomach. The image of his face would be with her forever.
His eyes glowed like red hot coals in their deep sockets, the tortured lines around his mouth and eyes were deepened by the gloom of the van interior. Chalmit stepped back and began stammering an apology.
He slowly shook his head and raised his hand to dismiss her attempt at an explanation.
To her surprise his voice was calm deep and warm, belying the fury that flashed from his eyes.
“No matter, no matter”, he said “who taught you to play like that?” not taking his eyes off her face.
She wanted to shrug her shoulders but she knew the violin would fall from under her chin. Her legs and arms felt as if they were made of pure led. She hands was still in the playing position. With great effort, she managed to raise them a little higher, in a gesture indicating she had no idea.
“What do you mean?” he said, raising his hands and imitating her gesture.
Chalmit knew she had to say something because a hint of irritation had crept into his voice. An air of calm swept over her brining back some of her natural courage, and spirit. She straightened her shoulders and looked him squarely in the eyes, even though they brought a chill to her spine.
‘I’ve never held a violin in my life before sir!” she had decided to tell the truth no matter what. The confidence in her voice covering the fear and nervousness she actually felt.
This seemed to throw him over the edge; He flung the bottom half of the stable door open and stepped into the bright sunlight.
The calm warmth had completely left his voice.
“What you want from us girl!” he spat the fierce burning eyes boring right through her.
“Come to mock us and see the freak show, have you. UH!” he said as he made a wide dramatic gesture pointing to all the other vans.
“Come to see if we mistreat our animals, or to see if we bath regularly!” he hissed as he plucked at his pure white shirt.
“Hu, Hu,!’ so you can run home to the fine folk in the manor you stay with and spread false stories about us!” he punctuated each word by stabbing the air with his very ornate cane.
Chalmit noticed in the blind blur of her fear that he had not taken his eyes from her face.
He leaned forward and peered intently into her eyes.
“Where you stay girl!” he hissed still looking into her eyes.
Chalmit’s false bravado quickly leaving her in the lurch, she raised her right hand and pointed with the bow in the direction of the Manor house.
“Mmmm… Scattergood’s place….” he said with vicious contempt and half under his breath he added,”…pompous ass…!”
Anger and shock rapidly began to replace the fear she was feeling, instinctively she wanted to defend the master.
“He is not as you say, he is a good and kindly man……” her voice trailed off and her eyes widened as she looked into his face, never before had she witnessed such pure hatred in a human being before.
“Carefully what you say about him around here young un!” He hissed between his teeth as he leaned closer to peer into her face.
Chalmit stumbled a few steps backwards, the tears welling up in her eyes; she turned on her heel and stormed off toward the hedgerow opening.
“You can leave the instrument at the tree as you leave so as not to get fouled any further by us!” he called after her.
The mocking tone in his voice stopped her in her tracks; she held out both hands in front of her and stared at the violin and bow in her hands. Slowly she turned around and walked back to the vardo, she carefully placed the violin and bow back where she found them. Raising her eyes she looked back into his hate filled eyes. With out a word she turned again and walked out of the common.
Maybe if she had looked a little closer or bothered to look back she would have seen the pain and hurt flicker like a frightened shadow somewhere deep behind his arrogant dark eyes.
The tears streamed down her cheeks, she could not understand the extreme emotions and thoughts that were running through her heart and mind. She didn’t even notice the muddy puddles she walked through. She had never in her fourteen years felt such anger, pain and hurt all at once.
“I hate him, I hate him! “she repeated over and over as she stumbled blindly down the road to the Manor House.
The Encounter
The rain had stopped early that morning. Chalmit got up and looked out the small cottage pane windows into the neatly trimmed garden outside. The trees still swayed in the gentle breeze, the worst of the storm was over, and the fine drizzle made a halo around the moon as it tried to peep out from behind the low clouds. She leaned her forehead on the cold glass and watched the water droplets race each other to the bottom of the window. She gently lifted her hand and traced one of the droplets with the tip of her finger, as it raced the other droplets.
“Chose the wrong one again.” She smiled turning around and getting back into bed. She shivered as she pulled the covers up around her nose. She could still see the moon from her bed. The clouds drifted past it changing its shape. Her mind drifted to a conversation she had overheard in the manor house yesterday.
Chalmit suddenly felt really excited, Gypsies in their area. The master’s voice had sounded harsh and his face had shown open disgust as he complained to Sir Pendleton, about the Gypsies that had moved onto the common just south of the woods. She wondered why people hated them so much and accused them of being dirty thieves, and bringing disease, to all those around them.
She was sure that they were not like this and was determined to find out for herself,
Chalmit was tall for her fourteen years with long shiny coal black hair. Her eyes were the colour of dark amber, and her left eye was particularly striking it had a gold fleck in it the shape of the crescent moon. Chalmit stayed with her aunt and uncle in the cottage on the manor estate, right next to the lake. Her Uncle worked for Lord Scattergood as the Gardner and her Aunt was the head of house keeping staff. They were simple and kind folk, very religious and always willing to help others where and when they could. That is why when Chalmit’s mother had turned up on their doorstep late one cold and rainy night; they took her in immediately. When her mother was taken away for fear that, she would give the rest of the family consumption; her Aunt and Uncle willingly kept Chalmit on and treated her as if she were her own daughter.
People always fussed over Chalmit and commented on her amasing beauty. This didn’t faze her; in fact she was rather embarrassed and felt very uncomfortable by all the fuss. She thought she was just a normal girl with hair and eyes that weren’t the same as the people around her.
She was the first one down for breakfast, the huge coal stove along the far wall made the kitchen warm and cozy. Her Aunt placed the still steaming slices of bred on the table; she sliced some cheese from the bright red wedge, on the cutting block and placed it on the plate next to the bread. Her Aunt smiled warmly as Chalmit snuggled up next to her arm and kissed her good morning on the cheek.
“Morning young lady, did you sleep well, what with the storm and all.” She said in voice that had a hint of the Irish accent Chalmit had heard so often at the fair in the village.
“Yes thanks you, you know I love it when it storms.” She said as she pulled out the stool from under the kitchen table. She checked herself, walked over, and helped her Aunt with the tea try bringing it to the table. She placed it gently on the table and sat down.
“Has Unclely left for the Manor already?’ She asked as she spread a thin layer of butter on the slice of bread. Chalmit had called her uncle ‘Unclely’ since she could remember. It was a bit of a family joke. When she was still small, she could not say both the names together so Uncle Lyle became Unclely.
“Yes, Sir Scattergood, summoned him just as the sun was coming up.” She nodded. “I think they are concerned about the sheep in the bottom field, they’ll be bringing them closer to the Manor, what with those Gypsies moving into the common .“ Her voice had taken on a slight tone of disapproval.
Chalmit looked up from her breakfast; she looked at her Aunt, the question slipped out before she could check herself.
” What’s makes Gypsies so bad?” She regretted her tone as soon as she asked the question.
Her Aunt’s eyes grew stern as she looked at Chalmit. “You be careful around them do you hear, they are not to be trusted!”
“Yes Maam,” Chalmit said obediently as she lowered her eyes.
“So will you be coming with me to the Village this morning? “Said her Aunt changing the subject, her voice had gone back to the calm warm loving tone Chalmit was used to.
Chalmit was quiet for a while, when she answered she made sure her voice was even and matter of fact.
“ No thanks Taunt, I think I’ll take a walk down to the bottom field and watch Unclely bring the sheep in, if that’s alright with you?” she said taking a bite of the bread and enjoying the sharp taste of the cheddar cheese.
“Mmmm… just don’t get in the way. You know how fussy Sir Scattergood can be.” She said as she poured the tea.
“Promise.” She said and wrapped her slender hands around the steaming cup of tea.
After clearing the table, Chalmit almost skipped to her room. Hurriedly she washed and dressed, and left the cottage from the back door. She skipped and walked to the back gate and moved off in the direction of the bottom field. Once she was out of sight of the cottage, she changed direction and walked towards the road. Climbing through the hedgerow, which ran along the length of the road all the way to the common near the forest, she walked out on to the muddy road?
She ran, and then walked along the road jumping over the puddles trying not to get mud on her shoes. She wondered what she would find at the common when she got there. Would they be as dirty as people gossiped? Would they be as ugly as people said they were? Her heart was full of excitement, wonder, and yes even a little fear.
As she rounded the corner and the hedgerow fell away, the brightly coloured caravans came into view. It immediately struck her how well kept they seemed to be and just how tidy the camp site looked. The caravans were more than she had anticipated; they were beautiful. Each van had its own colours and designs, the flower and details on the doors and around the windows was breath taking, and that was what she could see from this distance, she was longing to see them close up. She hesitated as she approached the opening in the fence that surrounded the common. Why was she so keen to see these people? What was driving her curiosity? She had nothing in common with them.
So, what was the attraction? She looked at the caravans in the circle, there was no one about, every thing was quiet, and there were no dogs about, that seemed odd as her Uncle had said that there were always dozens of scrawny dogs about with them.
She carefully stepped over the shallow ditch and moved slowly closer to the caravan that stood apart from the others. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw a movement behind the caravan. She giggled softly to her self as she recognized a horse as it walked into view. She caught her breath, it was magnificent, it was huge, bigger than any horse she had seen, even the masters racing mare was no match for size. It was so black it shone purple in the sunlight. There was only one marking on his otherwise jet black coat, and that stood out so clearly because of its odd colour, it was a light brown crescent moon on its forehead. It was truly magnificent, the main and tail were neatly combed and platted, but not cut like the horses she had come to know. She stood there for a short while just admiring the animal. Chalmit turned her head on the side as if she were willing an answer from the beautiful animal,
“Why are you so well kept, if every one tells me that Gypsies mistreat their animals?” she whispered with a smile.
As if in answer, the stallion shook and tossed his head backward, turned and walked off toward the trees. Chalmit instinctively made the same movement with her head and started to walk toward the closest caravan.
She approached the caravan cautiously; still looking around to see if there was anybody around, every thing was quiet. She took a step toward the stairs of the caravan, as she touched the hand rail a deep sadness swept over her, the tears welled up in her eyes, and the feeling was so intense she instinctively took a step backward. She caught herself staring at the steps, not understanding the feeling she was experiencing. As she lifted her eyes, they rested on the violin that was propped against the deep red wall of the caravan just to the left of the stable door. Not even the shiny gold detail painting on the bright red door could distract her. She was inexplicably drawn to it, it pulled at her heart, and she just had to touch it. She moved closer still, the dull warm glow of the maple wood gleamed in the sunlight. The shape of the instrument and the resin powder under the strings seemed to talk to her heart, and touch her soul.
She raised her hand very slowly, the tips of her fingers brushed the gleaming wood, there was an excitement the flowed through her finger to the very center of her being, she had the deepest desire to pick it up and play it. She hesitated,
“Don’t be silly Chalmit”, she mumbled to her self “you never played one of these in your life.”
However, the desire was just too much she just knew inside that she could do it, she lifted the instrument, and passed it under her chin, and she felt as if it were made for her. It fitted like a glove. It felt warm and comfortable. She leaned forward and took up the bow. It was surprisingly heavy, but her petite little hand closed over it comfortably, her left hand closed around the neck of the instrument, the smooth warm wood nestled into the palm, her fingers seemed to be led to the strings. She hesitated; her small slender fingers depressed the strings, her fingers seemed to have a life of their own.
Almost instinctively, she drew bow down and away from the violin. The sound startled her at first but it was so sweet and clear it hung in the air. She looked down at the instrument not quiet sure what to make of the beautiful sound she had just produce from an innate piece of wood
The clatter of the caravan stable door being swung open brought her sharply back to reality. Her head snapped up and she looked into the face that glared out from the gloom of the caravan interior. Chalmit felt as if she was frozen in time by the fear that gripped and knotted in her stomach. The image of his face would be with her forever.
His eyes glowed like red hot coals in their deep sockets, the tortured lines around his mouth and eyes were deepened by the gloom of the van interior. Chalmit stepped back and began stammering an apology.
He slowly shook his head and raised his hand to dismiss her attempt at an explanation.
To her surprise his voice was calm deep and warm, belying the fury that flashed from his eyes.
“No matter, no matter”, he said “who taught you to play like that?” not taking his eyes off her face.
She wanted to shrug her shoulders but she knew the violin would fall from under her chin. Her legs and arms felt as if they were made of pure led. She hands was still in the playing position. With great effort, she managed to raise them a little higher, in a gesture indicating she had no idea.
“What do you mean?” he said, raising his hands and imitating her gesture.
Chalmit knew she had to say something because a hint of irritation had crept into his voice. An air of calm swept over her brining back some of her natural courage, and spirit. She straightened her shoulders and looked him squarely in the eyes, even though they brought a chill to her spine.
‘I’ve never held a violin in my life before sir!” she had decided to tell the truth no matter what. The confidence in her voice covering the fear and nervousness she actually felt.
This seemed to throw him over the edge; He flung the bottom half of the stable door open and stepped into the bright sunlight.
The calm warmth had completely left his voice.
“What you want from us girl!” he spat the fierce burning eyes boring right through her.
“Come to mock us and see the freak show, have you. UH!” he said as he made a wide dramatic gesture pointing to all the other vans.
“Come to see if we mistreat our animals, or to see if we bath regularly!” he hissed as he plucked at his pure white shirt.
“Hu, Hu,!’ so you can run home to the fine folk in the manor you stay with and spread false stories about us!” he punctuated each word by stabbing the air with his very ornate cane.
Chalmit noticed in the blind blur of her fear that he had not taken his eyes from her face.
He leaned forward and peered intently into her eyes.
“Where you stay girl!” he hissed still looking into her eyes.
Chalmit’s false bravado quickly leaving her in the lurch, she raised her right hand and pointed with the bow in the direction of the Manor house.
“Mmmm… Scattergood’s place….” he said with vicious contempt and half under his breath he added,”…pompous ass…!”
Anger and shock rapidly began to replace the fear she was feeling, instinctively she wanted to defend the master.
“He is not as you say, he is a good and kindly man……” her voice trailed off and her eyes widened as she looked into his face, never before had she witnessed such pure hatred in a human being before.
“Carefully what you say about him around here young un!” He hissed between his teeth as he leaned closer to peer into her face.
Chalmit stumbled a few steps backwards, the tears welling up in her eyes; she turned on her heel and stormed off toward the hedgerow opening.
“You can leave the instrument at the tree as you leave so as not to get fouled any further by us!” he called after her.
The mocking tone in his voice stopped her in her tracks; she held out both hands in front of her and stared at the violin and bow in her hands. Slowly she turned around and walked back to the vardo, she carefully placed the violin and bow back where she found them. Raising her eyes she looked back into his hate filled eyes. With out a word she turned again and walked out of the common.
Maybe if she had looked a little closer or bothered to look back she would have seen the pain and hurt flicker like a frightened shadow somewhere deep behind his arrogant dark eyes.
The tears streamed down her cheeks, she could not understand the extreme emotions and thoughts that were running through her heart and mind. She didn’t even notice the muddy puddles she walked through. She had never in her fourteen years felt such anger, pain and hurt all at once.
“I hate him, I hate him! “she repeated over and over as she stumbled blindly down the road to the Manor House.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Prologue
The strains of the soulful music faded into the pitch-black night, the separate notes seemed to tare and claw at the night sky reflecting the torment and pain that ran through the fingers from the very soul of the maker. His long jet-black hair stuck to the sweat on his high cheekbones, almost looking like deep scars across his face. The red bandana around his forehead was dark in patches from the perspiration .He stood there his feet apart, arms hanging at his sides holding the violin and bow loosely in each hand.
The light from the camp fire played across the one side of his body and face and touching the high spots of the very colourful detail of the embroider waist coat and the white puff sleeves, the perspiration glisten like diamonds as the light from the fire danced across his broad chest. The rolled up shirtsleeves showed strong brown forearms. He lifted his head slightly and looked at the other caravans nestling in a circle around the campfires; the pain and hurt glowed like hot coals in his dark brooding black eyes.
He slowly moved the bow from his right hand and took it in his left hand with the violin, he straightened his body and threw his head back, his mouth was open as if in a scream but no sound came out. His whole body shook and could have been mistaken for sheer rage; if the fire had not caught the tears as they rolled down his gaunt tanned cheeks.
Shifting his weight carefully from one leg to the other, he bent down and picked up a very ornately carved cane. With slow and deliberate steps, he made his way toward the brightly painted caravan in front of him. If you knew no, better you would have thought him to be drunk. From under hooded eyes, he shot one last look at the other vans,
Why had they followed him? Why had they chosen him? What could he do to help them?
“I am only one man and a cripple at that!" he hissed into the night, "yet they demand my very soul."
He leaned against the wooden handrail of the stairs that led to his caravan. He laid the violin down just to the left of the door. His eyes burned with a fury that stemmed from the pit of his stomach fuelled from many long years of struggle.
“Every time I climb you, you rob and steal my strength, taunting me, I can hear your hollow mocking laughter, it rings like a bell in my heart, damn you!" he spat the words venomously at the polished wooden stairs
As he lifted his leg onto the first step, the pain shot across his face making him grit and bare his teeth like a wounded cornered wolf...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)