father of the symphony _ smb

IV.I

  [ my first try of writing personal starters for people ]

Joesph Haydn was in one of his moods where he didn't live. Not literally, of course, because he wasn't dead.
He had inspiration roughly a day ago, and since then he hadn't moved from his spot on his couch, scribbling and erasing things in a notebook.
His door was unlocked, because he forgot to lock it after he had an idea on his way home.
It was a nice afternoon, and for once, the boy wasn't talking to anyone, which made sense, seeing as he was busy.
Still, it was an intriguing matter, and people were starting to get worried.
Walking in, the room was a mess, with Joesph's coat and bag thrown on the ground.
A call of "Joesph? Are you okay?" Wasn't answered.
Walking towards him did nothing.
A loud sigh did nothing, as did a poke.
Continue from here -rosypianist-