The Cellist

The Cellist Ch 1

The soles of black gentlemen dress shoes hustle in contrast to the brightness of the moonlight threatening to expose his presence to the doomed souls seeking to quench their voids at twilight. Heavy feet beat against the cobblestone. The tapping along with the splashing of murky water's collide beautifully as footnotes carried by the hollowness of the vast alleyways and the endless projection of the wind singing like a symphony that only the streets could appreciate. The shadow like figure makes its way down a dark alleyway; light barely illuminating the streets. None of the patrons notice the giant of a man in a long black trench coat and gentlemen's hat. The brim concealing his eyes, and the collar of the trench coat casting a dark shadow concealing his facial features.

Drunken laughter echoed in his ears beating against his eardrums. There was no time for a detour--- he reminds himself as he continued down the dark alleyway. Although his sadistic mind begged him for release. He couldn't offered it, not now. Time was of the essence and he had none to spare.  So he continued on; His strides becoming longer, and his pace, faster ... more anxious. The wind picked up the coat behind him, making him appear like a menacing winged bird ... half man, half creature of the night. A shadow demon with wings. Deep laughter echoed in his head as soon as the thought came to him.

As the wind carried him to his destination; with a one track mind, tunnel vision making him unaware of his surroundings. The tall man pushed past a young woman. The impact rippled through him like rapid waves causing his body to stiffen internally. For a moment he looked over his shoulders, feet still determined to gain ground as he did.

Unable to keep them from meeting their demise. The woman looses her grip as her books fall, each one smacking the ground and tumbling, landing inches away from one another. She gasped, falling to her knees in desseray as her wide eyes helplessly looked down at each one unable to save them from the puddle of mud.

The eyes of the shadowed man, travel to her face. The woman's body stood frozen in place as she glanced up only to be met with two pair of bloody red eyes staring at her intently.

Without warning he turned around and hurried down the street as quickly as possible. She made me out--- he thought as he continued on his way to his destination. However, he had no time to make sure if this is the case. He had somewhere to be. Something to do and although it was crucial to clean up after himself, there was no time. Once he was done, he would take care of his mistake.

Finally the man arrives at a deserted narrow passageway. A black heavy wooden door stands between him and the lovely gift that stood inside. Grabbing the brass handle, his delicate masculine right hand turns it counterclockwise, then with his left hand, Palm pressed up against the smooth barrier in front of him he pushed the door open. The hinges protest making the street mices scurry in the opposite direction.

The six feet seven inch man takes one step into the dwelling, his left foot following right behind the other. And the heavy wooden door makes the familiar sound, protesting against the disturbance; once again the wind commands it shut. There it stood, the body of a goddess.

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The Cellist has been a project I've been working on now for a couple of weeks and I'm hoping to have the first chapter edited and ready to go by the end of this month. I hope you all enjoyed the preview!