The Calling (7) : A beautiful melody drift on the air from somewhere far away. The vocals are in a language you don’t quite recognize, but feel somehow familiar to you. Something about the song calls to you, but no matter where you go, the song seems to sound the same distance away. The longer it goes on, the more emotional the song becomes--and the more emotional you become. Something about the song is possessive and consuming, like it’s all you can think of. Something resonates in you as the song crescendos, and the feeling is at its strongest--be they good, bad, anything, but suddenly the song fades, and there’s only an emptiness inside of you. The feeling of loss is strong, and can leave someone feeling emotionally numb. Someone out there was calling to you, and you couldn’t find them.

Rob was having a bad day. Busking was not going well today; people either ignored him or stopped to listen but didn't leave any tips or buy any CDs. Even his playing was off for some reason -- very unlike the musical prodigy he was. All this combined was making him very cross and scowly, which of course made it worse because people don't want to listen to a busker who isn't enjoying themselves. And Rob was most definitely not enjoying ******** this," he grumbled to himself, looking down at the near-empty guitar case and stack of unsold CDs. Leaning his guitar against the wall, he went to pack it in for the day…

...When soaring over the sounds of people and traffic came a distant song.

Rob stopped mid-packing -- he had shoved the CDs into his backpack and was putting his guitar away -- and he listened. The music was beautiful, incredibly so; there were vocals too, the singing blending perfectly with the instruments. He couldn't make out the words, but he would have sworn something deep in his soul knew the words. And it seemed only he could hear this song; none of the people bustling past him seemed to notice it.

Packing his guitar up, he grabbed his stuff and went in search of the source. He was obsessed with this song -- he felt like it was calling to him, to something deep inside him, and he had to find where it was coming from. He crossed the street to the lawn in front of DCU and stopped, listening as hard as he could, but it seemed to be no closer, coming from all around him, floating about and cutting through the sounds of the city. Maybe it was just echoing off the surrounding buildings. Cupping his ears, he closed his eyes and concentrated as the mysterious song increased in intensity and emotion. Whoever was performing this were a bunch of ******** geniuses, he decided, feeling the emotion of the music tug at his heartstrings in a way he'd never felt before.

He plopped down on the lawn and listened. Pulling a pennywhistle out of his hip pocket, he placed it against his lips and gently played along, letting his instincts meld with the song to guide his fingers. Immediately the intensity of the music grew; the feelings coursing through Rob grew too as he harmonized instinctively with the song. The vocals, which he still could not quite understand, seemed to reach into his very core and evoked a feeling of joy, of longing, of calling out to him specifically with some message he simply couldn't parse.

Rob continued playing as the song soared into a roiling crescendo; he almost cried out at the magnificence of it, the beauty and raw pain and hope and daring to hope. He could feel tears streaming down his cheek, but he didn't care -- he continued to play along with the haunting melody that seemed to be meant just for him.

And just as suddenly as he had heard it, it faded, leaving only an echo.

He dropped the pennywhistle in his lap and bent over and sobbed into his hands. The ethereal song had left him feeling empty and lost; he knew someone out there was calling to him, and he knew he had failed them by not coming to them. "But I couldn't find you," he murmured through his sobs, shaking his dreadlocked head. "I tried, but I couldn't find you…" He hoped at least whoever it was had heard him playing along -- he couldn't be sure, but he thought maybe they had.

Straightening up, he took a deep breath to steady himself, then stood and collected his gear. He was going to have to write down what he remembered of the melody when he got home.

(wc: 643)