Everyday between nine until noon a beautiful sound painted the scenery of the town. This sound was what gave the town its life, rescuing it from its ordinary gloom. During those three hours this town would be lit up by vibrant colors which could not be seen during the rest of the day; warming the hearts of even the coldest people that happened to hear it. I know, because I have a heart like that. When a sound is that beautiful, you will find those who begrudge it, and I was one of them.
The origin of the sound came from the center of town. On the busy streets you would find stores, restaurants and old friends meeting to catch up. Above all though, here you would find an old man playing a violin with ease. Many people including myself believed his violin was a magical, and it could make even the worst violin players into the best. In a way, the old man and his violin were the centerpiece of this town. The way the notes rolled off the strings was incomparable to any other sound.
One day the old man was found dead at his home, and somebody new had the violin, a young man with big aspirations. He wanted to paint the town in even more vibrant colors than the old man could achieve. But since he got the violin, this town was never more gray. It no longer had a violinist that poured out color. I know this young man very well. He had good intentions, but knew nothing about how to play the violin.
He was flustered. Every day from nine until noon he would go to the center of town and play the violin not understanding why it did not sound beautiful. The old man used to get so much money enriching people passing by with his music on his magic violin, the young man did not make a penny.
The town was no longer filled with life giving colors, instead it stayed in its sea of gray. No longer from nine to noon would the old man drown this town in a sea of colors, but I the young man fumbled confused with the bow. People got tired of the my music and yearned for the old man’s music, but everyone knew they would not hear it again. They started wondering what happened to the old man and how the I came across his violin, but I knew the truth.
I was in denial for the longest time. Thanks to my cold heart I had killed the old man and stole his violin in hopes of doing something even greater for this town. Now knowing, that the violin was useless, my irrational crime was for nothing. Everyday from nine until noon I tried and tried to play that violin, but the violin and myself were incompatible. I could not live with what I had done, and every day at the end of noon I would close the violin case and reflect on my crime.