#1
Hi, I wrote this for college and thought it was apt to place here, enjoy...

To say Simon was a performer was false, too false. But he was a creative soul who felt he needed to share the fruits of his labours. Under the woollen hat, behind the beard and through the dark clothes was a bright and astoundingly talented song writer, capable of conjuring powerful emotions with an acoustic guitar and a voice.

As Simon wandered into the light in the corner of the grotty pub he lifted his head to the microphone, picked up his old, beaten yet treasured guitar and announced,

“I’m Simon Neil, this is my music.”

With this short sentence Simon drew a round of applause from the gathered audience; young men and women with expensive haircuts and tight jeans; they gazed at the figure beneath the spotlight. As Simon began to play the lights seem to illuminate his presence, he moved towards the microphone and softly sung the poetic words to his opening song. The pessimistic pub goers turned from the bar, they ceased their idle chatter and watched, watched something beautiful, a human man creating a link between every other human in the room. The movement of air creates sounds, sounds to burrow into emotions and affect us all. Simon was grateful for such a thing as sound, and he knew humans have been blessed to make some, to express the delight, the grief, the beauty and the pain, and in the process to connect to one another through this simple, so simple medium.

Simon was happy that the people were attentive to his music, his heart lifted in his chest as he played; he broke into a smile as he proudly strummed the final chords to his song. Just as he was about to finish a loud bang shattered the atmosphere, his heart sunk back down to his feet once more. Light seemed to illuminate the room, and a wave of arctic air grabbed every person in the room and shook them until they lost focus on Simon. Someone had smashed the pub window which Simon was standing in front of, the brick had broken the top of his guitar, and he could play no longer.

The lights were turned on and a wooden board placed over the window, Simon sat down at a table and his friends Greg Halford and Rick Thomson came over to discuss his short yet deeply moving performance.

“Gutted for you mate, that was great” said Greg Halford “You having a drink?”

“I am” said Rick Thomson.

Simon nodded as Greg bounced over to the bar, now crowded.
A pretty, young, blonde woman wandered over to Simon’s table, she wore black jeans and a red t shirt with a sunset on it, it may have been a sunrise, Simon did not know.

“Hi” the pretty, young, blonde woman said cheerily “I really loved your song”

Simon played with a beer mat idly on the table.

“Thank you” Simon murmured “I’m playing in the White Lion down the road next Saturday”

“I’ll be there” the pretty, young, blonde woman said smiling.

“The last time he played there, he played for an extra two hours!” Rick said “They loved him that much!”

“That’s amazing!” the pretty, young, blonde woman exclaimed “Is that true?”

Simon nodded modestly, and watched as the pretty, young, blonde woman smiled radiantly at him then waved and walked out of the dirty pub with her friends.

Greg carefully walked back to the table balancing three pints of foaming beer.
“Who’s that you’re chatting up now Simon?” Greg joked.

“Didn’t catch her name, I think she will come next week” Simon said quietly.

The three men sat drinking their beers until the bell for last orders shrilly rang out through the room.

Greg, Rick and Simon left the pub after a final pint. Greg and Rick went to their shared house as Simon wandered off to his own flat with his broken guitar on his back. Simon wandered through back alleys towards his home and wondered how the people in the pub would have reacted had he finished his whole set instead of it being cruelly ripped away from him by a brick, a simple brick. Simon wondered why he had not even asked the pretty, young, blonde woman’s name.

He pushed the creaky plastic door and ambled up the stairs to his flat, he fumbled with the keys, he opened his door and clicked it shut behind him as he stepped into his dark room. Simon placed his broken guitar on his desk. He stood in his little flat staring at the musty sofa, the empty beer cans on the dirty floor, the peeling wallpaper; he could hear the sound of a loud television below. Simon saw crisp moonlight filter through the gap in his ragged curtains and light his body, in the dark of his apartment the most beautiful thing was him, his heart lifted again, like when the young men and women with expensive haircuts and tight jeans paid attention to his performance. Simon knew that next week he would find out the pretty, young, blonde woman’s name.


Well, that's it, I hope you could glean the general theme of the story and I'd love some crit.

Thanks for reading!!
Last edited by joni_xz at Jan 9, 2009,