Souls & Spirits | ONC 2024

Prologue

The sky was the limit as far as Aster's azure orbs could see. The only limit being how it would take him to reach his hometown. Indigo hues kissed the landscape as he got absorbed in taking a leap to reach the zenith. Watching the cirrus sky and fluffy clouds roll past him as it faded into the sunset.

The wind flapping his cerulean scarf. A zephyr caressing his cheeks, a glimmer of hope in his eyes as he grabbed his violin case. The only case he had while he travelled from state to state as a vagrant.

He had managed to keep a job for as long as a he could. First it was working at his uncle's farm in Kankakee to do field work to tend crops and driving tractors. Aster ran away after he drove his uncle's tractor through the wall by accident. The then sixteen-year-old only lasted a month working for his cranky uncle who only threatened to use him as a scarecrow if he didn't get his boney arse to work.

The other odd jobs he managed to obtain ranged from working at a diner as a fry cook, working as a as an escape artist at a circus, working as a delivery guy or working as a truck driver. Despite the mishaps that came at his way, Aster managed to put on a smile. How long has it been? Three years? Four? It didn't matter, all that he had to care about was going back home. Who knows? Maybe he could find a place to stay for the night or find a nice spot to play a tune.

Aster had plenty of time to kill, plenty of time to practice and to perfect playing his violin solo. It was really difficult to keep track of time when one went moving from place to place.
Minutes could pass. Hours, days, maybe months?

“Oh well,” Aster opened the violin case to check if his violin was still intact, not a single string out of place but he had to make sure if it sounded right, “Just a little more.” He picked up the instrument and adjusted the turning pegs to test the sound.

He stroked the bow to the strings, a couple of notes. A shrill sound, “The chords need adjustment.” He needed to listen closely to ensure it sounded right. He played a couple of notes for a few seconds. The G chord sounded just fine, the A chord could use some fine tuning, the E chord was fine, the D chord however. A grating sound came the string amd he tightened the peg for good measure and he tried again. “Almost.”

And he played the first solo that came to mind; Moonlight Sonata. Just a sample, he played for a couple of seconds then got lost in the melody.
He closed his eyes for what felt like a few minutes, then opened them and looked out the window. It was getting dark, the sun was setting and he had to get off the train. He needed to leave, he stopped playing and put the instrument back inside the violin case as he ran to find an exit.

Aster couldn't find any open doors, his stop was getting closer and closer. He looked out the window and saw his chance, he grabbed hold of the windowsill, slipped his violin case out and then climbed out of the train.

Aster made a huge mistake in not focusing on where he would land as his body clashed against gravel, plywood and shrubbery as the chugging of the train became a distant echo.

He groaned from getting splinters on one of his forearms, his knees scraped against the gravel and having the violin case hitting his thorax. Temporaily winded, he regained his breath, then trudged all the way to the station to recover.

By the next morning, he visited his father's house only to find that it was in a worse state than he remembered. The lawn was dried up, the windows were broken and poorly barricaded. Aster had peeked through the windows hoping to find him there, or anyone for that matter.

It was abandoned, not a single soul living there.

Aster trudged his way to the park and sat down on the sidewalk next to one of the fountains as he opened his violin case to play for the pigeons that were perched by the fig trees, some of them searching for bread crubs to eat.

His gloves were torn and threadbare, the one holding the violin by the neck had his left pinky and ring finger exposed, a tear on the middle and breaking by the seams. Aster laid his chin on the chinrest and then picked the bowstring waving it like a wand and introduced himself to the pigeons.
“Greetings ladies and gentlebirds, I am Aster Rhodes and I would like to give you a show. Not with empty proses or gentle words, but a solo to bestow.” So he strum the strings with his bowstring and began to play an upbeat melody for the pigeons.

A song to forget the troubles and hunger pangs.

The pigeons were a better audience than the strangers that passed by who certainly had a better time in throwing pennies, nickels or dimes at a fountain. An offering for the wishmaking waters to stir a sense of invocation to fulfill a pending desire.

Certainly they had far pressing matters to attend to than to bask at the fresh air, the verdant trees, the lovely pigeons nor to dawdle with a fiddle-playing vagabond or to listen to a song.

He returned to St. Louis and spent the following days playing from place to place, giving a free concert for the birds and snagged a couple of spare change from the fountains to fulfill his wish to have bread for himself and his avian friends who loved to listen to his violin. “I made a poem for you, my friend. It's a poem about a pauper who travelled from place to place. Saving his salary to send a letter to the reverend. This reverend knew several men who were prim and proper. They went to celebrate the solstice but the poor pauper was never invited. The pauper hath made a prayer; My Lord, my Lord, I pray thee! Save thy village from this catastrophe! I know I hath sinned for taking this copper! I beseech you, oh Lord. I am just a lowly pauper! Then the Lord spoke to the pauper, and said; I shall not change a mark nor an apostrophe, the only way to stop this catastrophe is for my people to repent and return to me. The pauper spent his salary for a piece of bread and made haste to warn the reverend,” Aster told additional verses or stanzas to his pigeon friend before breaking some bread and fed the winged fella. “Oh reverend, my old friend, will you eat this bread with me? The reverend accepted his request and said; Of course, we are brethren! Praise the Lord for the kindhearted shall go to Heaven!”

The pigeon had perched on Aster's flat cap while the young vagrant had hobbled his way to the park and sat down on the sidewalk to play a tranquil melody for the pigeons once more.

A couple had gone to take a stroll on that same day for a romantic outing after a long week of business meetings and other pressing affairs that had been taken care of. An entrepeneur with a stoic countenance and bags under his eyes walked beside his adoring wife enjoying a peaceful afternoon.

The soft melody reached her ears and was curious to know where it was coming from. Aster simply played for his wonderful audience; his winged friend and the other pigeons before hearing footsteps approaching. He opened his eyes and looked up to see the couple. The husband was cold, gray and distant while his wife was a ray of sunshine who graced him with a smile. “That's beautiful music you're playing, hun. What else can you play?”

Aster's blue eyes beamed and let out a smile. He finally found the opportunity he was looking for, a place where he could call a home and it was thanks to her that he found a place to stay.