Vento / 1
To be a King
By Bianca Vento
Music was playing; it wasn’t the sort of music I had grown up with, the kind that I heard all the time,
the kind with pumping beats and electronic voices. No, this music appeared to be sung by a human voice. Which is just stupid, why listen to an imperfect voice? Who would want to listen to the terrible key tones thatcome out of a human? But despite the nonsensical nature of the song, the lazy baritone continued to beheard.
Turning the corner, in an alleyway was a….very dirty man. He wasn’t wearing any brand I had everseen, and he defiantly hadn’t been to any grooming station recently. His hair was long and shaggy, a stark
contrast to the standard crew-cut most males were assigned. What was worse was that untrimmed stubble waspeeking out of his face like weeds in an untrimmed lawn, soon to be a ratty beard. What was even stranger
than the man’s appearance
, however, was the object he held. In his arms was an ugly, bulky, wooden object.It appeared to be hollow on the inside, with strings attached to the front.
The man hadn’t notice
me, or if he had, didn’t think I was worth a glance. His fingers kept plucking
the stings on his wooden box, creating a strange vibrating melody. I stood entranced as the seemingly randomplacements of his fingers managed to make a song.
the thing he is carrying?” I thought, “Why didn’t he have proper clothes or hair? Just who did he think he was? Who
was this man singing this strange
and ugly song?” I listened for a little bit longe
r before the man finally stopped.He looked up at me, expectantly; I remember being quite embarrassed as I had just realized I hadbeen standing there watching him. I felt like someone who had been caught looking at a copy of
Rings of Venus
; though there were no signs of any men and women posing with strategically placed rings, I still feltashamed.
“Sorry, I’ll just go”, I stammered and quickly turned around, about to dash away, when his somber
voice stopped me in my tracks.
“Ain’t a crime to listen ya know. If I’m doing my job right, more people like you would be listening to my songs. But I guess I ain’t too good, seeing as you are the only one here…” he sighed, and continued to
sporadically pluck the strings of his wooden box.
“What is that thing? If you don’t mind me asking?” I timidly chirped at him.“Oh this old thing? I found it at my old job in quantum storage. It was surrounded by photos of a
man in a white suit with greasy black hair, and books of song for a G-tar, that must be what it is called. From
what I can gather the man in white was a musical king, loved by all.”
“A King of Music? How is that possible?” I asked, my voiced filled with skepticism.