I leave behind the howling winds, the turbulent waves and the worry of my death as I crawl slowly in hunger and pain upon this new shore. I can feel the hot sun burning a sensation of warmth into my skin. I know that I can start a whole new life here. I have left everything behind in my war-torn country including what meant most to me; my very own recorder given to me by my great grandmother. She had taught me this one tune that will never leave my mind because the tune makes me feel a sense of fulfilment that I can’t feel with anything else. *
“Excuse me ma’am, are you going to buy that recorder?” I stepped back and handed the woman her recorder. She gave me an odd, disgusted look and went back over to the counter where she was affiliated with. Every day I would come to this music shop just to look at the recorder and to touch its hard, cool, plastic surface. I knew I had no money and this voice inside my head kept urging me to just slip the recorder inside my shabby jacket and to walk away. You know you want the recorder, it’s so simple, just slip it inside your jacket. Imagine that invaluable feeling of harmony you achieve with your melody; like you are in an alternate universe... ‘NO!’ I tried screaming over my thoughts. I knew it was wrong. There is no other way of getting a recorder and you know it. You must take this one. Your great grandmother would have wanted you to. How else do you think she would have gotten your recorder? The principle value I was taught back when I was a young girl was to never steal or lie but being homeless and unable to afford anything but barely rations caused a sudden jolt of determination inside me. I didn’t want to feel lonely or like an outcast anymore and I knew the only thing that would take this nostalgia down was to take the recorder and play my tune. Good. Now tomorrow just go into that store like any other ordinary customer and take that recorder. It will be easy. Just relax. It is time to rest. The next day arrived...
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