The sun beat down on my back as I continued to walk along side my bike that late August evening. It was rather quiet except for the ticking of the bicycle wheels and the tapping of my converse against the hot pavement. I could feel my feet burnin through the shoes like they were being cooked in tin foil. My denim shorts, black tank top, and a loose, white, sleeveless top cut down the sides did little to protect me from the miserable sun. Strange, how escaping the heat is impossible: long sleeves kept the heat in and short sleeves exposed more of the skin to the sun. I much prefered the cold of winter where the option the being warm was available, but for now, I had to put up with the summer. ‘Its almost over,’ I reassured myself.

The heat aggravated my hands and knees that still burnt from when I flew off my bike after running over a stray screw. Luckily, I was only a couple of blocks from my house, so it wouldn’t take that long to get home.

While strolling along the path, I heard someone singing. As I got closer, the voice crescendoed and became more vibrant up until I stood in front of a house. Without meaning to, I gazed at the house wondering who it was that was singing. The voice was so beautiful; I was practically drawn toward the source, but I caught myself in the first step. Curiosity almost got the better of me. Almost.

At the corner of my eye, I saw an older man standing in the yard of the house, laughing as he glanced over at me. I looked to my left and right before returning my eyes to the older man. He wasn’t the singer. The tune still carried without this man moving his lips. It must have been someone else in the house. Caught up in the hypnotic voice, I didn’t even realizing I was just staring at the house. Finally, I saw the older man gesture toward a half-open window on the second story of the house.

My eyes followed his motion, and I peered at the window. There was a boy, sixteen, maybe seventeen, walking around a room. He had long, black hair, pale skin, and, from what I could see, a homemade choker around his neck. The boy had a white t shirt one with an unbuttoned long-sleeve plaid shirt thrown over it. He would pace back and forth singing a verse, then would walk back to the window area and would write something down an what I assumed to be a spiral or journal of some sort sitting on a desk. He stood hunched over, trying to scribble something down before finally throwing a pen away from him. The boy pushed the window open a little further and called out to the older man working the yard.

“Dad! Do you know where another pen is? This one is out of ink!”

Is voice was so low that it was almost startling.

His dad turned around and replied, “Andy, go check in the junk drawer! That’s where they usually are!” He laughed.

“Alrriiight!” Andy called back. With that he left the window seal, still singing the same tune.
There was a pause before the older man turned back toward me. “Did you enjoy the show?” he asked with a light tone.

It took me moment to realize that he was talking to me. “W-what?”
He smiled and repeated his question.

Stunned, I looked around and realized I was just standing there, stalkerishly watching their house. I quickly apologized and dashed off with my bike at my side.

Notes

This is more of an introduction.
Want some action? Read On!!!

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