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Description
Standing on the blindingly lit stage, I move my bow as the notes command me to. The music courses through my being and cascades from my fingertips into my stony audience. But something is not right; something is missing. As I play, another melody nags at the back of my skull, amplified by the weathered coin imbedded in the side of my violin. Its presence triggers a memory of long ago. Back to when it all began.

Life truly started for me when I was abruptly woken one day in my slimy gutter. People floated past in their finery, ignoring the grimy orphaned boy at their feet. As I dragged my wretched body away from the street, I heard it again. A sweet song unlike anything I had heard before beckoned me from afar; calling to me. Suddenly, I was awash with joy as a scene from my past burst fresh into my conscious, prompted by the music. A scene so old and hazy, I had almost completely forgotten it: a warm kitchen glowing gold, smelling of freshly-baked biscuits and a mothers loving embrace. I had forgotten what it was to be loved and the memory brought tears of lost happiness to my dirt-caked face. When I came back from my vision, I felt obliged to thank the person who had helped me - the musician who had reminded me.

I proceeded to scour the grey, cobbled streets, searching for the source of the music. Eventually, I managed to trace it resonating from within a crowd by the fountain in the square. I squeezed my way through to the front only to be amazed at what I saw. It was a woman clothed in an elaborate dress of flowing green and blue silk, legs and hips oscillating as she swayed to the music of her violin. With each movement, the gold bells on her costume chimed in perfect harmony with her song. I was entranced. When her enchanting song ended, I was quickly reminded why I had come: I had to thank her. An empty violin case gaped wide at her feet, enticing the wallets of its peers to empty into it; however no one budged to fill it. I fished into one of my grimy pockets and pulled out the only coin I had. It was dirty and green, its copper complexion fading, its edges well-rubbed from use: but it was all I had. I tossed it into her case. Or so I had thought. As if controlled by a mind of its own, the coin jumped out again and began to roll away down the cobbled streets.

I immediately took off after it. Dodging and weaving between legs, my eyes remained glued to the coin and my outstretched hands grasping fruitlessly at air. Eventually, the coin ran out of steam and came to a spinning halt at my feet. I grabbed it between my grubby fingers and held it tightly as I journeyed back to the square. But, when I returned to the fountain, she had disappeared. Her swirling silk costume, swaying and song had all but gone; her audience dispersed like seeds in the wind. All that remained was her violin case, left on its side and leaning against the fountain. No one paid any attention to it, so it had appeared to be fair to take it if no one wanted it. I carefully picked up the instrument and carried it to the alleyway near my gutter, and proceeded to configure its mysteries.

Many years of self-taught violin lessons passed and I had grown into a handsome, albeit still raggedy, young man who spent every day playing his violin by the fountain in the square. I only played for the enjoyment of it or in the hopes of brightening another’s day, not for the money that eluded my case. One day, as I had been packing up my things, I heard an unusual sound. It was very faint and came from near my feet. When I looked down I was astonished to find a metallic circular object in my case. A silver coin. I quickly looked up in shock to come face-to-face with one of the most respected of all composers. He pulled me onto my shaking legs and told me how he had enjoyed my playing, how he wanted to mentor me and make me known to the world.

Since my discovery, I have played for many famous members of the public - most of whom had ignored me when I was busking by the fountain. I grew to quick fame as a young violin prodigy and was taught to read and write music: leading me to be here now, performing on this stage. Out of nowhere, I am abruptly struck with reason. It had been my work - my music - that brought me here. So why am I playing someone else’s music? All of a sudden, the melody that had been nagging me erupts from my skull, overriding my fingers from its designated tune. In one sweeping movement, I kick the music stand aside, causing a waterfall of sheet music to drench my grim-faced audience and accompanying orchestra, silencing them. My audience does not appear to be fazed by the fact that the program has been kicked out the window; they are getting what they paid for - a performance. That is all they ever seem to care about.

More years pass and I find myself busking by the fountain once more. The throng of onlookers around me are only half-listening, their gazes carefully avoiding the empty violin case at my feet, which is hungry for spare change. During my playing, I bear witness to a familiar scene. A grimy and wretched looking little girl forces her way in-between the legs of my audience and stares up at my gently swaying body, donned in an elaborate suit of deep red and purple silk. She smiles up at me and I can’t help but put more passion into my performance. She seems to enjoy it, her smile burning away the tears that course their way down her face. I finish my final note with a lavishing flourish of my bow and take a bow just as magnificent. As I play my next piece, the girl jumps as if reminded by something. Dropping an arm into a skirt-pocket so deep it seemed to swallow her entire arm, she pulled out an old coin and tried to toss it into my case. It missed, ricocheting off the fountain and away into the streets; the small girl hot on its heels. As if compelled by some greater force, I stop playing and pack away my instrument. I don a cloak from nearby and dissipate into the crowds, smiling. All that remains as proof of my existence is a violin case displayed on its side against the wall of the fountain. Forgotten purposefully for her to find.
For the cycle to continue.

Description
Standing on the blindingly lit stage, I move my bow as the notes command me to. The music courses through my being and cascades from my fingertips into my stony audience. But something is not right; something is missing. As I play, another melody nags at the back of my skull, amplified by the weathered coin imbedded in the side of my violin. Its presence triggers a memory of long ago. Back to when it all began.

Life truly started for me when I was abruptly woken one day in my slimy gutter. People floated past in their finery, ignoring the grimy orphaned boy at their feet. As I dragged my wretched body away from the street, I heard it again. A sweet song unlike anything I had heard before beckoned me from afar; calling to me. Suddenly, I was awash with joy as a scene from my past burst fresh into my conscious, prompted by the music. A scene so old and hazy, I had almost completely forgotten it: a warm kitchen glowing gold, smelling of freshly-baked biscuits and a mothers loving embrace. I had forgotten what it was to be loved and the memory brought tears of lost happiness to my dirt-caked face. When I came back from my vision, I felt obliged to thank the person who had helped me - the musician who had reminded me.

I proceeded to scour the grey, cobbled streets, searching for the source of the music. Eventually, I managed to trace it resonating from within a crowd by the fountain in the square. I squeezed my way through to the front only to be amazed at what I saw. It was a woman clothed in an elaborate dress of flowing green and blue silk, legs and hips oscillating as she swayed to the music of her violin. With each movement, the gold bells on her costume chimed in perfect harmony with her song. I was entranced. When her enchanting song ended, I was quickly reminded why I had come: I had to thank her. An empty violin case gaped wide at her feet, enticing the wallets of its peers to empty into it; however no one budged to fill it. I fished into one of my grimy pockets and pulled out the only coin I had. It was dirty and green, its copper complexion fading, its edges well-rubbed from use: but it was all I had. I tossed it into her case. Or so I had thought. As if controlled by a mind of its own, the coin jumped out again and began to roll away down the cobbled streets.

I immediately took off after it. Dodging and weaving between legs, my eyes remained glued to the coin and my outstretched hands grasping fruitlessly at air. Eventually, the coin ran out of steam and came to a spinning halt at my feet. I grabbed it between my grubby fingers and held it tightly as I journeyed back to the square. But, when I returned to the fountain, she had disappeared. Her swirling silk costume, swaying and song had all but gone; her audience dispersed like seeds in the wind. All that remained was her violin case, left on its side and leaning against the fountain. No one paid any attention to it, so it had appeared to be fair to take it if no one wanted it. I carefully picked up the instrument and carried it to the alleyway near my gutter, and proceeded to configure its mysteries.

Many years of self-taught violin lessons passed and I had grown into a handsome, albeit still raggedy, young man who spent every day playing his violin by the fountain in the square. I only played for the enjoyment of it or in the hopes of brightening another’s day, not for the money that eluded my case. One day, as I had been packing up my things, I heard an unusual sound. It was very faint and came from near my feet. When I looked down I was astonished to find a metallic circular object in my case. A silver coin. I quickly looked up in shock to come face-to-face with one of the most respected of all composers. He pulled me onto my shaking legs and told me how he had enjoyed my playing, how he wanted to mentor me and make me known to the world.

Since my discovery, I have played for many famous members of the public - most of whom had ignored me when I was busking by the fountain. I grew to quick fame as a young violin prodigy and was taught to read and write music: leading me to be here now, performing on this stage. Out of nowhere, I am abruptly struck with reason. It had been my work - my music - that brought me here. So why am I playing someone else’s music? All of a sudden, the melody that had been nagging me erupts from my skull, overriding my fingers from its designated tune. In one sweeping movement, I kick the music stand aside, causing a waterfall of sheet music to drench my grim-faced audience and accompanying orchestra, silencing them. My audience does not appear to be fazed by the fact that the program has been kicked out the window; they are getting what they paid for - a performance. That is all they ever seem to care about.

More years pass and I find myself busking by the fountain once more. The throng of onlookers around me are only half-listening, their gazes carefully avoiding the empty violin case at my feet, which is hungry for spare change. During my playing, I bear witness to a familiar scene. A grimy and wretched looking little girl forces her way in-between the legs of my audience and stares up at my gently swaying body, donned in an elaborate suit of deep red and purple silk. She smiles up at me and I can’t help but put more passion into my performance. She seems to enjoy it, her smile burning away the tears that course their way down her face. I finish my final note with a lavishing flourish of my bow and take a bow just as magnificent. As I play my next piece, the girl jumps as if reminded by something. Dropping an arm into a skirt-pocket so deep it seemed to swallow her entire arm, she pulled out an old coin and tried to toss it into my case. It missed, ricocheting off the fountain and away into the streets; the small girl hot on its heels. As if compelled by some greater force, I stop playing and pack away my instrument. I don a cloak from nearby and dissipate into the crowds, smiling. All that remains as proof of my existence is a violin case displayed on its side against the wall of the fountain. Forgotten purposefully for her to find.
For the cycle to continue.