Melody

When Dylan was four his Mum took him to a nursery on the other side of town from his old one. It was closer to his new house, closer to the new primary school he would be going to and closer to the rich and famous lifestyle his Mum dreamed of. The school was in a small single floored building that was painted in the three primary colours. It was also across the street from a tall, thin old house with three windows on the left and four on the right. That house was to become Dylan's favourite place in the world. Edinburgh's School of Music.

Dylan was nineteen now, and everyday he drove over to the very same house with his cello for hours of practice. Mrs DeFleur had taught classical music to eager and talented students for over forty years,but her latest pupil, Dylan, was almost ready to leave her for the stars. It all depended on one performance, his debut into the upper class world of classical music.

If this performance went well, he could be the greatest solo cellist for decades. If it went wrong, he would be forgotten about and doomed to a life of playing in small amateur orchestra with irregular pay. Everything hinged on this.



Dylan's fingers danced across the strings like a grasshopper in the wind, deftly curving the bow across the brow of the cello quickly. Backward and forth, backward and forth. The high crescendo of the music wavered for a long moment before crashing back down into the low fiddling speedy conclusion, hovering and finishing with one last strong note to hang in the hair like bad news.

He wiped his hair away from his sweaty forehead as he stood. It was done.