Armageddon
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ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴀ ᴘʀɪᴠᴀᴛᴇ, ᴄʟᴏsᴇᴅ ʀᴏʟᴇ-ᴘʟᴀʏ. ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴘᴏsᴛ ɪғ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴜsᴇʀɴᴀᴍᴇ ɪs ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴛʟᴇ.
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Realistic or Modern ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʟᴏsᴇ. [ ᴀʀᴍᴀɢᴇᴅᴅᴏɴ / ᴄʀᴏᴏᴋᴇᴅᴄʀᴏᴡ ]
- Thread starter Armageddon
- Start date
ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴀ ᴘʀɪᴠᴀᴛᴇ, ᴄʟᴏsᴇᴅ ʀᴏʟᴇ-ᴘʟᴀʏ. ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴘᴏsᴛ ɪғ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴜsᴇʀɴᴀᴍᴇ ɪs ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴛʟᴇ.
Armageddon
______
For a very welcomed change, it was a clear, sunny day out. In fact, it was so pretty outside that Trenton decided to go to the park to play instead of on his usual corner. Daytime coaxed parents to bring out their children to play and adults to go for well-deserved peaceful walks, and Trent quite enjoyed playing for all the curious people who would come around. Nothing made him happier than putting a smile on people's faces, even if they didn't toss in a quarter. So passionate he was about music that the joy it brought others was worth the effort.
Even so, Trenton was a well-known member of the community there in Heathersfield. It was a town, far too small to be labeled a city, and it had varying degrees of safety depending on where you went within it. The homeless population wasn't huge, but crime still was laden within the walls and foundations of the town. Drug crimes, robberies, even race crimes would come up now and again in the newspapers. Many different kinds of people lived within the town, and Trenton knew practically each and every one of them - especially the people who would cause him trouble when given the chance.
Luckily, however, he had earned the nickname 'Music Man' for good reason. Every day, he sat outside on the corner of Oatberry Drive and Grand Avenue, with nothing but a chair, his bag, his open saxophone case and his saxophone. His skill at improvising playing songs was so well-developed that he could develop practically any music into sax form; the enthusiasm and kindness from passerby, many who recognize him, would toss dollars and change into his sax case, sometimes even paying him in tens or twenties requesting a specific song for him to play. He wore two outfits that he interchanged, cleaning them at the public laundromat and keeping himself looking as put together as possible despite his situation. Trent would take a deep breath, close his eyes, put the reed to his lips and let the notes do their magic, his fingers navigating the keys of the brass instrument with impeccable accuracy.
On that beautiful day, he migrated to his second spot in town: Ensling Park, the biggest and prettiest piece of land in the entire town, save for the woods nearby. He would place his chair and belongings underneath a tree nearby a busy sidewalk, and there he would play his tunes for anybody else enjoying the weather that allowed him to be there. Every donation he received, every compliment and comment, was recognized and appreciated; he watched kids dance to the music with their parents watching on, even making a couple of them boogie to the beat. With the warm summer air flowing through his tied-back curls, he played on, allowing the flow of the music to get him lost within it.
Even so, Trenton was a well-known member of the community there in Heathersfield. It was a town, far too small to be labeled a city, and it had varying degrees of safety depending on where you went within it. The homeless population wasn't huge, but crime still was laden within the walls and foundations of the town. Drug crimes, robberies, even race crimes would come up now and again in the newspapers. Many different kinds of people lived within the town, and Trenton knew practically each and every one of them - especially the people who would cause him trouble when given the chance.
Luckily, however, he had earned the nickname 'Music Man' for good reason. Every day, he sat outside on the corner of Oatberry Drive and Grand Avenue, with nothing but a chair, his bag, his open saxophone case and his saxophone. His skill at improvising playing songs was so well-developed that he could develop practically any music into sax form; the enthusiasm and kindness from passerby, many who recognize him, would toss dollars and change into his sax case, sometimes even paying him in tens or twenties requesting a specific song for him to play. He wore two outfits that he interchanged, cleaning them at the public laundromat and keeping himself looking as put together as possible despite his situation. Trent would take a deep breath, close his eyes, put the reed to his lips and let the notes do their magic, his fingers navigating the keys of the brass instrument with impeccable accuracy.
On that beautiful day, he migrated to his second spot in town: Ensling Park, the biggest and prettiest piece of land in the entire town, save for the woods nearby. He would place his chair and belongings underneath a tree nearby a busy sidewalk, and there he would play his tunes for anybody else enjoying the weather that allowed him to be there. Every donation he received, every compliment and comment, was recognized and appreciated; he watched kids dance to the music with their parents watching on, even making a couple of them boogie to the beat. With the warm summer air flowing through his tied-back curls, he played on, allowing the flow of the music to get him lost within it.
CrookedCrow
Things finally getting back on tracl
The death of his great aunt had been very unexpected. She had been very active, fiery, even in her old age. No sign of decline. Not even a single complaint of her joints. Death came for her anyways. Hugo wasn’t sure how he even felt about it, being at her funeral, having been with her those last few weeks. He’d chosen to move out to where she was for school because he’d felt closer to her than the rest of his family. Spent the last 4 years hanging out and getting stories about her days in rural El Salvador. Now she was gone. Leaving him the house she’s brought finally at the end of life.
He’d been told that the house belong to a direct family, that he should give it back. That he’s being selfish. Maybe he is selfish because he’d taken the house with both hands.
He’d quietly graduated, not inviting anyone, not even going to the ceremony, just wanting to get his diploma in the mail. From the dorms, he packed his car full of his things and went to his tia’s home. He stepped out of his car, feeling like he had forgotten something. Usually, he would’ve called his tia to tell her he was on his way. But she was gone, so she wouldn’t answer the phone.
As he walked up to the house he barely noticed the group of white men, who’d been chatting happily just a moment ago, had gone quiet. Without even looking Hugo scurried inside the house not wanting to even greet his neighbors. The house was dark, dusty, he pressed his back to the door closing his eyes for a second to let his heart calm down. It was strange, he’d been to this house thousands of times, yet it felt so different now. The air smelled stale and muggy. The floorboards creaked as he walked.
Decorations were normal things old Hispanic women hoarded. Figures of angels and babies. Small statues of buildings. The virgin mary. He ran his fingers over the dust on the books of the bookshelf. She’d cheekily admitted she had read the books but her daughter had sent them to her. They were all books translated into Spanish and Hugo made a note to see what the genres were so that he could read them later. He could read and write in Spanish but he didn’t do it very often and didn’t want to lose those skills. He bit in his cheek feeling a rising heat in his chest that he couldn't explain.
He didn’t know what he was feeling but he didn’t want to feel it and needed to leave the house, as soon as possible. With google maps in hand, Hugo found a coffee shop and a park. Technically he didn’t explore this town, mostly hung with his tia indoors, so the town felt really new to him. He barely made eye contact with the cashier as he took his latte and walked to the local park. It was a beautiful area, and he felt safe sitting on the bench away from the families and kids running around. Unbuttoning his sleeves and rolling them to his elbows to feel the sun on his skin. As he took a sip of coffee his glasses completely fogged over. He could hear music in the distance and had to wipe off the fog with a finger to see. Looking across the field seeing a tall dark saxophone player within the trees. He leaned back looking down at his feet and quietly enjoyed the music.
He’d been told that the house belong to a direct family, that he should give it back. That he’s being selfish. Maybe he is selfish because he’d taken the house with both hands.
He’d quietly graduated, not inviting anyone, not even going to the ceremony, just wanting to get his diploma in the mail. From the dorms, he packed his car full of his things and went to his tia’s home. He stepped out of his car, feeling like he had forgotten something. Usually, he would’ve called his tia to tell her he was on his way. But she was gone, so she wouldn’t answer the phone.
As he walked up to the house he barely noticed the group of white men, who’d been chatting happily just a moment ago, had gone quiet. Without even looking Hugo scurried inside the house not wanting to even greet his neighbors. The house was dark, dusty, he pressed his back to the door closing his eyes for a second to let his heart calm down. It was strange, he’d been to this house thousands of times, yet it felt so different now. The air smelled stale and muggy. The floorboards creaked as he walked.
Decorations were normal things old Hispanic women hoarded. Figures of angels and babies. Small statues of buildings. The virgin mary. He ran his fingers over the dust on the books of the bookshelf. She’d cheekily admitted she had read the books but her daughter had sent them to her. They were all books translated into Spanish and Hugo made a note to see what the genres were so that he could read them later. He could read and write in Spanish but he didn’t do it very often and didn’t want to lose those skills. He bit in his cheek feeling a rising heat in his chest that he couldn't explain.
He didn’t know what he was feeling but he didn’t want to feel it and needed to leave the house, as soon as possible. With google maps in hand, Hugo found a coffee shop and a park. Technically he didn’t explore this town, mostly hung with his tia indoors, so the town felt really new to him. He barely made eye contact with the cashier as he took his latte and walked to the local park. It was a beautiful area, and he felt safe sitting on the bench away from the families and kids running around. Unbuttoning his sleeves and rolling them to his elbows to feel the sun on his skin. As he took a sip of coffee his glasses completely fogged over. He could hear music in the distance and had to wipe off the fog with a finger to see. Looking across the field seeing a tall dark saxophone player within the trees. He leaned back looking down at his feet and quietly enjoyed the music.
Armageddon
______
As he played, Trent enjoyed taking looks around and people-watching to spot other town members that he recognized - which happened to be a lot of people. His eyes would flutter open as he played and he would let his gaze wander, taking the beauty of the park in and letting the inspiration flow out of the brass sax in his hands. A couple with two boys lived down the street from Grand on a smaller road called 10th; he remembered the first few times they'd approached and his first actual conversation with them, with the wife wanting to know how long he'd been playing as a musician herself. There were a lot of single parents too, of all different backgrounds and ethnicities, and some elderly townsfolk simply walked alone to enjoy the sun and the exercise.
Of course, just as the living were well-accounted for, deaths in the town were also well-reported. Some were the result of crimes, but others were simply older people whose time had run out. Recently, an older woman that he referred to as Ms. Morales had passed away unexpectedly. It hit Trenton harder than he would have expected; Ms. Morales was energetic and a paradigm of strength, and she had come across Trenton many times and praised him for his music, even donated money when she could to him. He couldn't attend her funeral, obviously, but the loss lingered in him. Enough time had passed that he had gotten a grip and been able to move on, but the town truly had lost a good person when she passed away.
Unwittingly, Trenton's gaze would fall upon somebody nearby that he .. didn't recognize. This was such a rare occurrence that he actually stopped playing for a second when he saw Hugo, his gaze lingering. He was a slim, well-dressed young man, a fair bit shorter than Trenton, with a large pair of black-rimmed glasses, holding a latte in his hands as he kept shyly to himself. A curious urge within Trent told him to go up to him and see who he was, but the introvert within held him back. When he noticed him for the first time though, it was difficult to get that curiosity out of his head.
He realized he'd gone quiet on his sax, and so he decided to play a classic to see if the new person would look at him again: Frank SInatra's Come Fly With Me. This time, instead of relaxed closed eyes, they wandered nearby where the new townsperson sat on the bench, waiting to meet eyes. A warm smile, maybe even a little wink was in store. If words couldn't be used, perhaps some nice music and a silent greeting would be enough to capture the stranger's fancy.
Of course, just as the living were well-accounted for, deaths in the town were also well-reported. Some were the result of crimes, but others were simply older people whose time had run out. Recently, an older woman that he referred to as Ms. Morales had passed away unexpectedly. It hit Trenton harder than he would have expected; Ms. Morales was energetic and a paradigm of strength, and she had come across Trenton many times and praised him for his music, even donated money when she could to him. He couldn't attend her funeral, obviously, but the loss lingered in him. Enough time had passed that he had gotten a grip and been able to move on, but the town truly had lost a good person when she passed away.
Unwittingly, Trenton's gaze would fall upon somebody nearby that he .. didn't recognize. This was such a rare occurrence that he actually stopped playing for a second when he saw Hugo, his gaze lingering. He was a slim, well-dressed young man, a fair bit shorter than Trenton, with a large pair of black-rimmed glasses, holding a latte in his hands as he kept shyly to himself. A curious urge within Trent told him to go up to him and see who he was, but the introvert within held him back. When he noticed him for the first time though, it was difficult to get that curiosity out of his head.
He realized he'd gone quiet on his sax, and so he decided to play a classic to see if the new person would look at him again: Frank SInatra's Come Fly With Me. This time, instead of relaxed closed eyes, they wandered nearby where the new townsperson sat on the bench, waiting to meet eyes. A warm smile, maybe even a little wink was in store. If words couldn't be used, perhaps some nice music and a silent greeting would be enough to capture the stranger's fancy.
CrookedCrow
Things finally getting back on tracl
Hugo noticed the suddenly change and song and had to smile to himself when he recognized the song. Frank Sinatra, he was a graphic design kid but hung out with a few theater kids that he had endured many people using that song as their audition. He didn't look up, didn't like the idea of meetings eyes with anyone so he stared down at his feet everynow again taking a sip from his coffee. During one sip he took a sneaky look through his fogged up glasses, only meeting eyes with the stranger.
His eyes widen his smile fading and he looked back down at his shoes. He berated himself for acting so weird, already, he hoped that the musician hadn't actually seen him and had just been looking in his direction. What if the musician thought that Hugo was a creeper just staring? His thoughts raced in that sort of direction. He sat up, jostling the coffee a bit spilling it on his hand. The burn brought him out of his panicked thoughts and he put his coffee down and carefully took out a napkin from his pocket to dab at the burn and then at the stains on his shirt.
He'd always had his own type of style. His mother had drilled into him the importance of how you looked. *Mija don't let people see you dirty, see you disgusting, they will see you as disgusting. However, he doubted that his preference for sweaters and slacks, vests and bowties, was in her mind. She wanted him to look nice AND manly. However, it was what Hugo found comfortable, too bad he was cursed with spazzing out and spilling shit on his clothes. He dabbed at the stains, still aware of who was walking around him.
He wondered what other music the musician would play. The wind was picking up so the music was soft from where he was sitting. Would anyone notice if he came up closer? Would that be creepy? Unsure of himself he stayed where he was staring at the ants who were carrying off some bits of foods to bring back to their people.
His eyes widen his smile fading and he looked back down at his shoes. He berated himself for acting so weird, already, he hoped that the musician hadn't actually seen him and had just been looking in his direction. What if the musician thought that Hugo was a creeper just staring? His thoughts raced in that sort of direction. He sat up, jostling the coffee a bit spilling it on his hand. The burn brought him out of his panicked thoughts and he put his coffee down and carefully took out a napkin from his pocket to dab at the burn and then at the stains on his shirt.
He'd always had his own type of style. His mother had drilled into him the importance of how you looked. *Mija don't let people see you dirty, see you disgusting, they will see you as disgusting. However, he doubted that his preference for sweaters and slacks, vests and bowties, was in her mind. She wanted him to look nice AND manly. However, it was what Hugo found comfortable, too bad he was cursed with spazzing out and spilling shit on his clothes. He dabbed at the stains, still aware of who was walking around him.
He wondered what other music the musician would play. The wind was picking up so the music was soft from where he was sitting. Would anyone notice if he came up closer? Would that be creepy? Unsure of himself he stayed where he was staring at the ants who were carrying off some bits of foods to bring back to their people.
