PART ONE
I am a violin. Plain looking as I am, I have a wonderful sound. I used to play soft, sweet rhythm in the hand of my young master. But now, lying in the complete darkness, I’m totally discarded, forgotten, waiting for my end in this dead silence. The flown time appeared like dream in my declining memory. Those bitter and sweet days made an imprint on my vision that is all I still get. So here comes the story about beauty, music, friendship and loneliness.
My father was an intelligent master craftsman. Though his gift didn’t bring him any fame or fortune, his zest for the violin making had never been worn away. One day in an odorous, dirty sty he discovered a wedge of spruce, which is light and strong---perfect for the violin. Joyfully, he trade a packed of food for it with the puzzled countryman. After three weeks’ hard work, my sister and I were born into this world. My father couldn’t afford the expensive varnish for us. But I can assure you, plain as we are, we are the first-class violins with the hypnotic sound you’ve never heard!
How long did I take in the shelf to wait for my master coming up? Two years, three years? Memory puzzles herself to reply this question. Besides, I always fell confused about the time in human’s world. But it’s definitely a long, long time. All I can recall about that is many, many people have passed by without even offering me a glance. How helpless unattractive I am! Finally I got a terrible feeling that my master perhaps would never show up, and my beautiful voice would be buried forever without even a chance to be heard.
It was a day like usual, colourless and gloomy. Like a dream a little girl, probably 6 years old, suddenly came up to me. For some reason, her beautiful eyes looked so empty and sad. But she was actually looking at me! Excited, my long lost hope rose up. I hold my breath, dreading to freight her away. Her mother came up and asked softly: Are you sure? The little girl cast her eyes down to the floor, she answered in an almost unread voice: Yeah. I cried for this single word. It sounded like a word from the heaven. At last, I found my master! Thousands words I tried to say, thousands questions I’d like to ask: Is she a good player? What kind of music is her favourite? She reached her hands for me. Her fingered felt so cold! Oddly, she didn’t give a try on me like most other masters would do. Lowering her head, she followed her mother out of store and down to the street. Few minutes later, with my excitement for the future calming down, I soon realized there was something wrong. My little master was obviously deeply troubled and upset. She grasped me tighter and tighter with her little fingers. She was fighting hardly a urge to cry but failed. Tears swelled up to her eyes.
PART TWO
One drop of her tears fell apart on my skin. It was hot, and …hurt. She grasped me tighter and tighter with her little fingers as if I was the only thing left in the world she could hold on. I got a strange feeling that this little girl was frightened, frightened to death. The mother finally sensed her daughter’s unusual emotions. She stopped with doubts, and pulled her daughter.
