Flute Practice

Flute Practice

A large brown house sat on the corner of Elm and Select street. Inside that house lived one of the most amazing musicians left on the Planet. I walked down Select street, my flute case in hand, while staring up at the Sky. Nothing different, the same yellow-orange cloud cover that never dissipates still there, the Sun a weak red orb barely shining through. I had heard that the Sky was blue and the Sun a large yellow splotch in it. But those were only old tales that Chester Winston, my flute teacher, told me.
I pulled my jacket closer to my body, because even though it was the middle of summer, it was incredibly cold. A snap of a twig and I, startled, looked around me, no one there. Nothing but black, dead leafless trees. My mother had offered me a ride but I refused. Being twelve, I told her I was a big girl and could walk by myself. Hesitantly she said I was right and let me walk to Mr. Winston’s unaided.
I changed my view from the ugly sky to the ugly grass below. It was a bloody red color and always prickly. I looked at my old black shoes now getting smudged by the dirty red grass. Like the sting of a bee I instantly felt a tiny pain in my right arm, then another and another. I quickly glanced at the sky and to my biggest fear, there it was, Acid Rain. As fast as my feet would carry me I took off for Mr. Winston’s house.
I reached Mr. Winston’s house just in time. I grabbed the door handle, swung it open, and flung myself in. Mr. Winston, startled, ran towards me. There was a boom of thunder and the rain started to come down in a torrent. Being caught in that would have burned me alive. Mr. Winston helped me up and helped me take off my respirator. The fresh air flooded my lungs and it was the most amazing feeling in the world. I gulped lungful after lungful of fresh air.
“Are you okay?” he asked
“Yes, Yes, I’m fine” I replied
“You’re lucky you know you just made it.”
“Yes” I said “I know, can you teach me more now.”
“Of course I can, here take a seat.” He said offering me a spot on his bench.
I took a seat and he followed suit. With the clasp of the locks my Flute case opened up and I pulled out my flute.
“Can I show you what I came up with?”
“Of course you can.” He said as he pulled over his Harp.
I started playing a soft tune and he followed with a peaceful melody off the Harp. As the artificial air machine hummed and the thunder outside clapped, along with the soft melodies of Mr. Winston and I, we created a symphony of music all our own.
A.Blye