An Angel’s Choir

I don’t usually pay attention to what I write when I’m sitting there not doing anything unusual. I just write whatever happens to come to mind. That’s what tends to get me into trouble.

I slack off in class, but I get all my work done. I stay on the computer writing for hours on end, but I manage to never be tired. Things such as those never really explain themselves to me, or any other person that I know.

My story is very strange. Usually things are the same for me, redundant everyday. But for some reason, something so out of the ordinary has happened to me.

It was at my spring concert. There was a man sitting in the front row that I had never seen before. He didn’t seem all that interested until I began to sing or play my solos. It struck a cord that told me something didn’t seem right.

Half of the time his face was blinded to me by the bright lights of the stage. The most that I could see of him was his blonde hair and muscular build. He looked thoughtful on the last song that I sang.

It was an Old Italian song that no one had really heard of. I found it in a back corner of the old city library, dust covering the paper envelope. When I took it out of the envelope, the music looked so sad and lonely that I felt the need, no the urge, to try it out.

It was unusual. The tempo wasn’t all that common and the words seemed melancholy, and yet they seemed so moving.

The shadow of the man sat up when I began to sing it. I thought I could see him squinting in concentration. The man seemed confused about the words coming out of my lips.

Maybe he used to take classes on Italian, or maybe he was moved by the words. He may have understood what I was saying, he may not have. At that time I just didn’t know. It was very confusing, but now that I know, I wish that I didn’t.

I told you that I usually get myself into trouble, right? Well, I guess that I made the wrong decision in picking this song because my life turned into a living hell after I sang it at that concert. I suppose that I should give you an explanation.

Well, we finished off the concert to a thunderous applause. By the time I made my way off of the stage, he was no longer in his seat. I scanned the crowd trying to find him, but he was no where in sight.

My sister, Amantha came up behind me and gave me a pat on the back.

“Good job. Where’d you find that last choir piece? It was very unique.”

“Just some dusty old section in the library.” I told her.

Amantha gave me the ole hairy eyeball, but she said no more about it. Instead she steered me out to her car and drove us straight home.

My mother, Sarah came out of the study as we walked through the front door.

“How’d the concert go?”

“Fine.” I answered.

“All I get is a ‘fine’? Tell me how you did!”

Fortunately, I didn’t have to answer, because Amantha did.

“She was great, Mom. You should’ve been there. You missed a really great performance.”

I ignored the rest of the conversation and went up to my room. Quite frankly, I was tired of all the praise I was getting for my music. I wanted to learn and do it all right, but I didn’t want everything to go to my head. I was better then that, my father had taught me that much.

A/N: Wow, here’s my first chapter. Let me know what y’all think!! Love you.