This is a story I wrote a couple of weeks ago. I am now just getting around to proof reading and editing it. Hopefully I proofread it correctly. If not my appolgies. I do hope you all enjoy it, and let me know. The story is Three parts, and will be posted in three parts.
PART ONE
THE FIDDLER MAN
I was running. Running from a hell that was called home. My feet were tired, and the back pack I carried was beginning to feel heavy. How much time I had spent walking I didn't know. I only knew, to just keep going. In my haste I had forgotten my watch. But time didn't matter anymore. I was free.
The lonely stretch of highway before me saw very few cars. Some whizzed by, never really seeming to notice me. I trudged on. No real destination, or any idea where I was going, or how I was going to survive. But I knew I had to rest soon. Off to the side of the road there were some woods. This I thought would be a good place to rest.
After walking another few feet, I took off my back pack and grabbed a bottle of water out of it. Then I sat down, alongside a tall pine tree, and gulped my drink. My mind raced back to just the other day. This beating was the worst. I promised myself I would never endure such pain again. I lifted my pant leg and could see the fresh bruises. I could feel the bruises on my back too. They always made sure they were where they couldn't be seen. My foster parents were suppose to love me. But I was nothing but a mere slave, and a punching bag. Not someone to love and hold. They wouldn't miss me I thought. They would just find another kid. I was now to old for them and started to rebel against their abuse. I suppose they thought my diminutive size I wouldn't be able to fight back so hard, and I could be beaten down. I'll bet they never thought I would run either.
I was 14 1/2 years old, and small for my age. I had been picked on in school many times. I guess I was just always a target for bullies. At first I always let myself get picked on. But after being a punching bag for so long, something snapped in me, and I began fighting back. Soon I was fighting back even at home. But the beatings got worse. It wasn't like showing a bully you weren't going to take it anymore. At least they would usually stop and just look for another target.
I capped my water bottle and placed it inside my back pack, and zipped it up. I looked up towards the sky and knew soon it would be dusk. I decided to walk further into the woods. Keeping on the highway, risked being seen by cops and getting sent back.
Walking for about another couple of hours, it was now dusk and light would be gone soon. I could vaguely see something of a small clearing in the woods and decided this was a good spot to stop for the night. I pulled two small blankets, out of my overstuffed back pack, and gathered some good size sticks and made a makeshift tent, then crawled in. I laid there for a few moments listening to the creatures of the night. Then soon drifted off to sleep.
Morning came quickly. The sun peeked inside my little makeshift tent, and my eyes popped opened. I crawled out and stretched, and realized I was hungry. In my trusty back pack, I retrieved the first thing I could. A few crackers. "Not really much of a breakfast", I mumbled to myself, but it was food.
I gathered up my things, and picked a direction, and continued walking. After a couple of hours I came upon a small lake. The temperatures had warmed up, so I thought a dip in the lake would be refreshing and fun. I whipped off my clothes, except my under shorts, and waded in. The water was cold at first, but felt good after a spell. Soon afterwards, I dried off, dressed and was off again.
Sometime later, my ears caught the sound of what seemed like music. Taking a few more steps the sound became clearer. I stopped to listen. It sounded like a fiddle. Looking between the trees, up a slight hill, there appeared to be what looked like a cabin. I hasten my pace, and followed the sound, careful not to be seen. When I was within a decent view of the cabin, I hid behind a tree. I was entranced by the sound I heard. Never had I heard a fiddle sound quite like that. It was so happy, and full of spirit. I sat down behind the tree and continued to listen. My feet tapping the ground, in rhythm Then it stopped. I peeked around the tree, to see why. I could see a man, sitting on a small porch motionless, with something in his hand. Most likely the fiddle I surmised. As my gaze stood transfixed on the man, I had hoped he would continue to play some more. I can't remember anything that made me feel so happy, as to listen to that fiddle. It was like magic.
Moments later the fiddle played again. I wanted to hear it better, so I snuck up closer. Always careful to keep myself hidden. Only yards away now, I tripped over something, and the weight of my back pack, kept me from righting myself up, and down I went. Umpf! I groaned. As I stood back up and brushed my hands and face off of pine needles, a shout booms out. "Who goes there?!" I jumped and hid behind another tree. Again. "Who goes there?!" The voice wasn't menacing, but seemed questioning. I didn't know what to do. All I wanted, was to listen to his music. "Friend or no?", the voice shouts again. With my heart pounding, I decided to reveal myself. I didn't know why then, but years later I did. My meeting with this man, would change my life, and a journey would begin.
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