Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

Touched

Custom User Avatar
More by this author
A contented sigh escaped his lips and hung in the vacant subway station. However, weaved within that contented sigh was a thin strand of worry. Of nervousness. Of tension. He knew perfectly well he wasn’t supposed to be here after hours, but he was here nonetheless. He had an extremely legitimate reason, though. He needed to practice. His violin concert was in less than a week and all rehearsal time was imperative. He couldn’t practice in his apartment, for he received complaints daily of “that screechy classical music” from his neighbors. They, apparently, did not share the same love for true music as he.
His faced was laced with wrinkles and flawed with defined crevasses. His skin hung off his bony cheeks feebly, giving him the unsettling appearance that his body was a size too small. His large, leaden eyes were set far into his head and his crusty, chapped lips seemed to permanently sag into a dissatisfied frown. Wispy white hairs were smothered under an argyle tweed cap. He lovingly stroked his violin case as his penny loafers scuffed the blue-and-green tiled subway floor
He could feel a pasty film separate as his lips parted. The familiar click of his violin case opening ricocheted through the station before returning to his ears. He reached for his violin. The glossy, fire-colored wood felt smooth to his touch. He raised his bow and placed it on the strings. Pressing gently, he pulled his bow down. The melody vibrated down his arm and tickled his fingers.
“Why are you here?” a raspy voice whispered menacingly. He tensed. His bony fingers curled around the neck of his violin as he turned to see where it had come from. But, eerily enough, he saw only empty train tracks fading into tunnels of darkness. He shrugged it off and returned to his music, assuming that he had imagined the voice. Complex rhythms and intriguing dynamics flooded the station, envoloping him.
“Coming here was a mistake!” Screamed the voice gleefully, enjoying the old man’s terror. He released his clutch on the bow, letting it fall to the floor with a clatter. The beautiful music ceased and was replaced by a sharp intake of breath.
“W-who…who are you?” He stuttered timidly. The only response was a cackle of sinister laughter. It seemed so close…like someone -or something- was talking into his ear, but when he turned around he saw he was still alone.
He heard another voice. “Just ignore it and practice you fool!” it said. It was stern, but clear, like his father’s was when he was angry. He jerked his head around to see if this voice had an owner. It didn’t. He placed his violin in its case delicately, and snapped the clasps shut. Sitting down on a bench he squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would make the voices go away.
“Why are you leaving?” a soft voiced purred. It was tiny and tinkled like bells. “Play me one more song, will you?” it coaxed. He was mesmerized. His fingers felt for the clasps. A voice like this one couldn’t be evil. It was too pretty. Much too pretty.
The next voice was familiar to him. “Here we go again, Joe.” This voice belonged to a sharply dressed cop. An exasperated expression hid beneath the officer’s young, chiseled features. “Why must we go through this every night? IT IS ILLEGAL for you to play here after hours. For God’s sake, Joe,” the cop muttered tiredly.
“I’m sorry,” said the old main, unremorsefully, “But I need to practice for my concert. You already know that though, Bart.”
“For one thing, my name is Damien. For another, you have no concert. Not tonight, not tomorrow. Not ever.”
“Poppycock! It’s at the Matterson Hall for the Fine Arts. Stop being foolish Bart,” he replied defiantly.
“Joe, the Matterson Hall burned down forty years ago. And my name is Damien!” Joe simply shook his head disdainfully. “Let me walk you back to the nursing home.”
“Bart, I live in an apartment on Fifty-second Street. What is wrong with you? Have you had too many shots tonight?” Damien sighed with pity.
“You lost your apartment four years ago. You are crazy and you forgot to pay the rent, remember?” Damien continued patiently. “And every night I’m stuck bringing you back to the nursing home.” After a few moments of vigorous head shaking from Joe and repeated reasoning from Damien, Joe finally agreed to return to the nursing home, if only to prove Damien wrong. He looked around and saw the sun sink beneath the horizon.
Bright slivers of light pierced the darkness, cutting through the black like butter. A yellow cab pulled over to the curb. Joe watched as the gray-tinted window rolled down, revealing the cab driver’s fleshy face inch by inch. “Same place as usual?” he grunted. Damien nodded. Joe looked up at Damien with the hopeful eyes of a five year old, “See you tomorrow, Bart?”
Damien looked at the old man with pained eyes, “Yep, you always do.” Joe climbed into the back of the canary colored car and shut the door. Damien watched as the thick, black, rubber tires rolled on the pavement, carrying Joe home. Joe sat in the back seat fingering with the clasps on his case, and, that night, he heard no voices.



Join the Discussion

This article has 16 comments. Post your own now!

Kelley J. This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Sept. 22, 2009 at 7:22 pm
You have such an incredible point of view! Your imagery is so concrete and vivid. The only critique I would even think to give is that your syntax gets a little too mechanical at times, but it was a really moving piece!
Sorry to get back to you so late, I just finally got my screenname issues worked out ;) I've also posted several new pieces!
 
jen9193 said...
Aug. 22, 2009 at 6:19 pm
I really like this one. Amazing. I like the twist in it. Didn't see it coming. Very Nicely written.
 
sally.m said...
Jun. 17, 2009 at 5:03 pm
I really like the suprise ending! your description was really god, i could totally see the whole scene appearing before me! AWESOME job!
 
Zero_Kiryu This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Jun. 14, 2009 at 11:53 pm
This is amazing! Thank you for commenting on "Winny". As for your question about the ages of Winny and Ren, I think knowing might ruin the story. Winny might act five and be ten, and Ren, who acts older, may in fact be younger. It's all about perspective.
ZERO
 
Mary Rose said...
Mar. 30, 2009 at 2:40 pm
This is a fantastic story! Awesome job getting published...I am so proud of you.
 
Aunt Barb said...
Mar. 7, 2009 at 12:38 pm
Micaela - you amaze me - the talent that went from your imagination to your pen and paper is awesome!!! You go, girl!!! - Keep up the good work - I want an autographed copy of your first best-seller! Love you!
 
Emo_supergurl! said...
Mar. 5, 2009 at 4:55 am
Wow i was randomly searching for stories and very many before this one i wish i hadnt read but when i read this i was very thrilled that I had decided to read it! Very captivating and it has a lovely twist!
 
Nate123 said...
Mar. 5, 2009 at 3:08 am
That was GREAT mikey I really loved it so captivating and suspenful AWESOME JOB hope it gets published
 
Rosie A. said...
Mar. 5, 2009 at 12:38 am
RINGOOOOOOOO, GREAT JOB! I KNEW YOU WOULD GET PUBLISHED! YOU'LL BE ON THE NYT BESTSELLER LIST BEFORE YA KNOW IT!
HUGS AND COOKIES 2 U!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
 
Linda said...
Mar. 5, 2009 at 12:21 am
Great story, Micaela. It was very intriguing and captivating. Congratulations.
 
MHart said...
Mar. 5, 2009 at 12:15 am
Well, done, Micaela. Very suspenseful and touching.
 
marlaina said...
Mar. 4, 2009 at 9:57 pm
I love your story and wouldn't it be fun if you published 18 storys like that one dude!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
 
coolj55 said...
Mar. 4, 2009 at 9:09 pm
You are awesome and you are so cool!
 
irish said...
Mar. 4, 2009 at 2:27 pm
Excellent story!
 
debrob2 said...
Mar. 4, 2009 at 12:43 pm
Micaela, What awesome writing! Your teachers must be thrilled and you must be so proud! Way to go! Debbie Robert BI
 
Rigormortis said...
Mar. 4, 2009 at 4:44 am
Fantastic! I was totally involved from the start and captivated throughout! Well Done!
 
Site Feedback