The Boy Who Played the World


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Once upon a time when many moons circled the heavens and sunlight faded to bright blue, there was a boy, and not just any boy, for he was a boy cut from the minds of musicians, wrought from the fingers of fiddlers, and molded from the clay of composers. This boy had notes for bones and rifts as blood, and he was made of melody that radiated from his lips and floated on his skin, yet his ears fell only on silence. He was music but he could never hear the song.

He wandered, his tattered guitar dragging in the dust, and he sought but never found the song to inspire his strings to move. Each alien town brought followers as they knew the boy was special, beautiful, magical; but not one showed him how to play, how to make his fingers walk up the neck and over the frets, how to create the music he knew lay inside of him. His melodies rang sour, yet they still followed him even when his doubt scrambled his chords and faltered his steps. The people saw what he could never see–the purity in his play, the angelic in his song. They heard the music when he was deaf.

The boy spread his music throughout the world waiting to hear the song. One day, he played, the moons high in the orange-dark sky, when one note rang out beneath the heavens. Floating, the boy’s fingers began to glide and then fly across the strings and he could hear the loud agony streaming from his fingers. And he finally knew why they followed, why the tears fell from their eyes. The music ached like his heart. It longed the way he did. The boy heard his soul in the melody, his pain in the song.

He turned around, searching for a change, a difference, a sign that he’d found the piece that made him hear, but all he saw was the girl. She had been there since the beginning, since the moment he touched his guitar. She smiled and waved a sad little wave, and disappeared into the crowd swaying to the music. And he missed her, the tilt of her head as she listened, the sleepiness in her eyes as he played. The realization made the yearning in his song scream out and the people wept with him. They mourned for her the way he did because he knew she had been the one all along.


10 thoughts on “The Boy Who Played the World

  1. Pingback: The Ballad of The Boy Who Played the World | loveletterstoaghost

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