The Fiddler

by J. B., Longmeadow, MA

The fiddler began his piece in the midst of a noisy crowded area; known to many simply as the bus station. Similar to ordinary bus stations, with an atmosphere of stale cigarette smoke, this one had a great mass of people shuffling and moving about. The people who had chosen to gather around him in small groups of three or four, had slowly begun to realize the purpose for this free concert. This music, lingering in the air like never before, was meant to calm the madness of society.

People stepped inside the bus station, meaning to get off the streets and far from the world which they dreaded so, yet ending up as spectators. A spectator in awe. A spectator in silence - amazed at the depth of the music that they nearly drown in. As the moments turned into never-ending minutes with the duration of his piece, the noise soon leveled off with the music. A few were paralyzed in awe as they watched the fiddler isolate himself in a world unfamiliar to those who attempted to displace themselves from actuality, and to those who never took a minute to dream - letting thoughts become you.