by Oso/Mei/Bear-Garden
Rating G
Trill Xmas
It was all he knew he could do to express his feelings and thoughts and words and…everything. This man, this poor man played, from the bottom of his heart, a sort of tune that attempted to reach out to people—to reach out to their hearts. If they accepted, he would hear a few coins clinking together as they met his hat. If declined, he was welcomed with the receding clacking of winter shoes and a long silence.
He was used to people walking by, on cold winters, cuddling up in pairs as they roughed through the harsh nights, making their way to their safe and warm houses. No one gave him a second thought, a second glance, to the point where he figured he must have been cursed. After all, the only people who approached him were those who hated him, who put him down. They ran up to him and yelled random things like “Can’t even talk, huh? You pathetic lil’ doll.” “Who the hell do you think you are? Your stupid tunes…are stupid!!” And even if the bullying was extremely childish, even if they were incredibly ridiculous…he grew to believe them. What if they were right?
But then again…what did he do to earn such treatment? All his life, all his life, he only wanted acceptance—at least someone to notice. He piped his way through the years, and every year he wondered if it was worth it. In the end, was it worth all the trouble?
He uncharacteristically woefully piped his pipe as he walked alone, yet again, through the streets of the city. The city clock chiming high above, indicating the beginning of a new day—an especially important day. It was now Christmas, you see, and the man who piped on the corner of this street wanted things to be…joyful, for lack of a better word. He felt it was his duty to keep that peace, his tunes may not make a difference, but he wouldn’t know if he didn’t keep going.
“Happy Christmas, sir!” A young boy came up to him and pulled out a coin. “I-I hope you stay safe for the holidays…! A-and, I hope to see you next year too. You see…I’m not from around here, but…I-I like coming here b-because I know you’ll be here. I recognize your tune, y’see…I’ve never mustered up the courage to approach you, but…” A sweet silence broke the air. “Ah…well I’m rambling now, but um…” The boy twiddled his thumbs for a bit after carefully placing the coin in the hat…and suddenly ran off.
Trill almost wanted to cry, and call out for the young lad—to thank him properly. As he watched the boy appear smaller and smaller into the distance, he was lost in his thoughts. If in the 365 days he played…only one person came up to him and personally thanked him, was it worth it?
He didn’t even have to think.
Yes, he told himself in his mind. Entirely worth it.
He picked up his pipe and marched on.
Figuratively, that is
Trill Xmas
It was all he knew he could do to express his feelings and thoughts and words and…everything. This man, this poor man played, from the bottom of his heart, a sort of tune that attempted to reach out to people—to reach out to their hearts. If they accepted, he would hear a few coins clinking together as they met his hat. If declined, he was welcomed with the receding clacking of winter shoes and a long silence.
He was used to people walking by, on cold winters, cuddling up in pairs as they roughed through the harsh nights, making their way to their safe and warm houses. No one gave him a second thought, a second glance, to the point where he figured he must have been cursed. After all, the only people who approached him were those who hated him, who put him down. They ran up to him and yelled random things like “Can’t even talk, huh? You pathetic lil’ doll.” “Who the hell do you think you are? Your stupid tunes…are stupid!!” And even if the bullying was extremely childish, even if they were incredibly ridiculous…he grew to believe them. What if they were right?
But then again…what did he do to earn such treatment? All his life, all his life, he only wanted acceptance—at least someone to notice. He piped his way through the years, and every year he wondered if it was worth it. In the end, was it worth all the trouble?
He uncharacteristically woefully piped his pipe as he walked alone, yet again, through the streets of the city. The city clock chiming high above, indicating the beginning of a new day—an especially important day. It was now Christmas, you see, and the man who piped on the corner of this street wanted things to be…joyful, for lack of a better word. He felt it was his duty to keep that peace, his tunes may not make a difference, but he wouldn’t know if he didn’t keep going.
“Happy Christmas, sir!” A young boy came up to him and pulled out a coin. “I-I hope you stay safe for the holidays…! A-and, I hope to see you next year too. You see…I’m not from around here, but…I-I like coming here b-because I know you’ll be here. I recognize your tune, y’see…I’ve never mustered up the courage to approach you, but…” A sweet silence broke the air. “Ah…well I’m rambling now, but um…” The boy twiddled his thumbs for a bit after carefully placing the coin in the hat…and suddenly ran off.
Trill almost wanted to cry, and call out for the young lad—to thank him properly. As he watched the boy appear smaller and smaller into the distance, he was lost in his thoughts. If in the 365 days he played…only one person came up to him and personally thanked him, was it worth it?
He didn’t even have to think.
Yes, he told himself in his mind. Entirely worth it.
He picked up his pipe and marched on.
Figuratively, that is