Worn Out Violin

Have you ever said something you didn't mean? But what happens when you say something that resulted in someone taking their own life? How about if that person was your own mother?

That's what happened to lily.At the age of 13 she said something that caused her mother to commit suicide.No one knows about it,except her.This traumatic event has resulted her in to refusing to talk.She's now 18 and lives with her alcoholic dad.She has no choice but to commit crime to get by.But something happens that causes Lily's life to completely take a dramatic turn for the worse.How will she cope?And what happens when she meets a special someone?



1. Chapter 1

I clutched the bag closer to my chest as I ran down the street,dodging the dog excrement. I occasionally kept looking over my shoulder,making sure he was definitely gone. Sprinting into a narrow alley,I steadied my breathing. I leaned against the brick wall,graffiti was splattered hideously everywhere while unsightly green moss traced the bricks' outlines.There were crumpled cigarettes and sharp pieces of glass littered the floor. 

Quickly unzipping the rucksack,I made sure the stolen alcohol was still safe. I ran my hand through my hair. My heart still beat quickly against my skinny chest. I swung the bag over my back and made my way home.

Stepping into the minuscule lift,I pressed the third button. The pungent stench of urine made my eyes water. I walked out of the lift as soon as the doors started to open and knocked on the 9th door. It was wooden,with stains of alcohol and blood from the frequent fights and parties. It had a few dents from the persistent knocks of complaining neighbours and police. I sighed. He must be in the pub. Again.

A faint rattling noise grew louder and louder from the other side of the door.

"Who is it ?" he slurred. Obviously drunk. Never sober. I heard the lock being turned and saw his unshaven face poke out through the crack.

He opened the door and flattened himself against the corridor wall to allow me to enter. He followed me through to the small living room,like a vulnerable dog will follow it's master for food.

Magazines and old newspapers dating years back were splattered carelessly on the tile floor. Dust took over the shelves while the wallpaper was bumpy from the damp.There was little light as the curtains were drawn.

I turned around to face him. His eyes were soft,with pain swirling around his pupils. It had been 5 years and he's still in pain. I nodded,telling him I got the alcohol. Passing him my bag,I watched him crouch over the stolen bottles of vodka and other spirits.

"You're such a good girl Lily,such a good gir-"he whispered as he collapsed on to the couch drinking his daily dose of alcohol. His drunken words mean nothing to me. I stood there,watching my father drink away his pain.

I walked to my room,dodging the pieces of broken glass and sharp objects on the floor. My room was just big enough to fit a bed and a small coffee table.It had a large window,with vintage curtains hanging loosely. The walls were washed with faint blue paint while there was a stained white carpet on the floor. It wasn't much,but it was my room. A place were I could escape the problems and troubles of my life.

I opened the window,trying to eliminate the stench of alcohol.The cold sharp air swirled around the room.

I bent down on to my knees and dragged out a battered case from underneath my ancient bed.Picking it up,I placed it  gently down on top of my musty bed sheet.I grabbed the zip and pulled it around,the buzzing sound tickled my ears.

I inhaled the familiar scent of polished wood and old paper as I lifted the top. My heart became impatient.I needed to play it.

I carefully cradled the wooden instrument in my arms as I opened the torn music sheet. It had tear stains and finger marks staining the page alongside with inky smudges.

I read my mother's neat inky notes. Memories flooded back. I could hear her laughter echo in my room. I could see her,opposite me,smiling as she taught me how to play the violin.

I violently  shook my head,trying to to get rid of the painful memories. I grabbed the violin and bow. Closing my bedroom door so the noise won't wake my dad. I opened the window and sat on the ledge,placing the music sheet better my knees. I let my legs swing loosely .Carefree.

Resting my chin on the violin, I positioned my bow. I closed my eyes and let the bow slip across the strings while my fingers pressed down. Sweet melodious sound filled the sharp cold night. The familiar notes of my mother's songs comforted me. It was as if she was here.
I played and played. I didn't stop even when the night air viciously bit my bare legs. Or when my fingers hurt from pressing down the strings.I didn't stop. I didn't stop in fear that the feeling of my mother being here once more,might vanish.

I woke up to a stinging cold sensation on my cheek. I peeled my face away from the glass. I fell asleep on the window. Again. My mother's violin still safely in my arm. My back was stiff from sleeping in an uncomfortable position. I  slid off the sill and stretched.

Lightly,I walked into the living room. My dad lay there with an empty bottle of vodka in one hand while a burnt out cigarette balanced in the other.

"Help me up Lily" he hoarsely whispered. I limped forward as I helped him walk towards the bathroom. I made sure he was alright then I prepared him breakfast with the few remaining items in the fridge. I needed to get more food.

My dad took a seat in his old stained clothes and started to dig in to the two pieces of toast and microwaved baked beans. He had a blank expression on his face. As usual. I waved to him,signalling that I was going out.

"When you coming back?" he huffed.

I shrugged than put five fingers up.

"Okay,5 O'clock then."he replied in a monotone. I knew he was hurt that I didn't want to spend time with him. But I couldn't. The flat made me depressed. Too many painful memories,and he wasn't exactly a bundle of joy either.

I went into my room and slipped on a brown woolly jumper over my faded jeans. They were stolen. Just like most things in the house. The worst thing is,I have no choice but to be a thief.

I tied my hair in a pony tail and placed my violin into its case.I slid it onto my shoulder and sneaked out,hoping my dad won't notice the violin.

He doesn't know about me playing it. He thought he got rid of it while he chucked mum's possessions out 5 years ago. He doesn't know that while he was getting drunk,I sneaked out in my pyjamas and climbed into the rubbish tip. Searching through every object till I found it.

I still remember that night. I was 13,and the news just reached my dad. He had lost two people. His son and now his wife. I remember him smashing every photo frame and ornament that reminded him of them. He became weak from all the pain and emotion.

He started drinking that night.That's when the problems started.

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