Why is that, Mister?

The little girl cheerfully, happily, skipped towards home. She had gathered a bunch of beautiful flowers for her mother. The most beautiful, freshest pink flowers she could find among the large piles of fallen flowers. Flowers were everywhere. Piles upon piles of flowers. Pink flowers.

But before the little girl could reach home, music, a beautiful sound, drifted to her ears. Beautiful, ensnaring, music, calling out to her. A small voice inside told her, "No, do not go. You must get to your mother." But the little girl paid no heed. She strayed off the path, climbed over piles of beautiful flowers, to get to the source of the amazing sounds. "No, no, this will not do. You must go home, child." The tiny voice kept muttering. Muttering, muttering, muttering. Again the girl paid no heed. The girl reached a clearing between the piles, and saw the source of the music. She was awestruck at what she saw.

An old man. A kind, smiling old man, playing a magnificent tambourine. A collecting tin in front of him, he continued smiling as he played the most wonderful song that has ever touched the little girl's ears. A throng of people were around the man, hearing the song. Hearing, hearing the song. Hearing, but not listening. Not listening. Not appreciating. The girl saw that the people were tired of hearing that wonderful, most amazing song over and over again. Over and over again. They placed coins in the collecting tin and left. One by one they left. One by one. Until, only the little girl was left, still straining her ears to listen to every single beat. She felt the music. Upon noticing she was the only one, the old, smiling man stopped playing.

The girl was disturbed at this. Disturbed. Yes, quite disturbed.

"Why is it that you stop, mister?" she asked innocently in front of him.

The smiling old man replied kindly "Well, dear child, it is because no one is there left to appreciate my music."

"Why is it that you think so, mister? I am here to appreciate your music." Said the little girl.

"I am afraid, dear child, there is nothing you can give me. Those people gave me coins in exchange for my music, but I notice you have none." Replied the man.

The girl did not know how the man found out she had no money. But she said "Why is it that you think I have none to give, mister? I have these flowers I can give you." She held out the flowers meant for her mother.

"Alas, dear child, I have no use for flowers. Child, should you not be going home by now?" the old man said.

"Why, it's true, mister, I do have to get home. Will you accompany me? I want to talk to you more." the girl asked.

"Dear child, I do not see how I can refuse the offer. Let us walk. Yes, let us walk." They walked.

"Why is it that you produce such beautiful music, mister?" the girl asked.

"Dear child, it is more than you can comprehend." The man said, jingling his tambourine as they walked between huge piles of flowers.

"Will you play for me, mister? Just one more time." Said the girl.

"Alas, dear child, the price is more than you can pay." The old man said sadly. They paused on top of a flower pile. They do not sink into the petals. The old man stopped smiling.

"Why is that, mister? Surely you can play whenever you wish." The girl wondered.

"Dear child, my tambourine is a hungry creature."

The child chuckled. "Why is that, mister?"

"I need someone to appreciate my music while I play. To listen. Love. Not just here."

"Then it is settled, mister. I will appreciate your music." The little girl said, smiling.

"Ah, but dear child, this music wants me to take the one who loves it. It is traitorous, you see." The old man started to grin mischievously.

"Why is it that I do not feel the mirth of your joke, mister?" the girl asked, trembling.

Suddenly, everything changed before the girl's eyes. The flower petals turned hideous. She dropped the flowers she was still holding. The old man suddenly wasn't quite an old man anymore. The tambourine, once so magnificent, suddenly cracked and ugly. Then the old man, but I must say is not quite an old man, bared its fangs and struck out its claws at the poor, helpless, dirty little girl.

A falling tambourine follows the shriek of the little girl, who dared to trust, and thus will never be found again. Will never be found. Never.

The forgotten tambourine lay face down, its cracks showing audibly. The flower petals were scattered around it, lying down into the dirt of the city garbage dump.

Moral: don't talk to strangers

I didn't quite get what happened to me. It just came into my head. This story is so insane you probably won't understand it. Oh well, please review!!! Luv ya!!! 3