The Violinist

The skies had been dark for more than a month, one had even forgotten what the sun looked or felt like. Its soothing and warm rays falling on the bare skin, giving it an eternal glow and its strong rays leading us from the cold and void darkness to light. The birds had stopped singing, the cool breeze had also stopped. Replacing these were the cries of innocents, begging for mercy and the explosions carrying their echoes throughout the land.

War was on.

It started as a misunderstanding of two arrogant minds but who ever really cared about the thoughts of two when there was blood of millions to spill. Books had been written, Songs had been sung, movies had been made, Oscars had been won. Today as I sit in this train on a journey which could possibly be my last, I drift away from the gruesome noise of the engine and back to the times when things were much peaceful.

Peaceful… Peaceful ?

I had never felt a pause for so long, the blank feeling was for a moment but it showed a pause that had been existing for centuries. Times never had been peaceful, there was always tension, always a feud, always a conspiracy. There was always a war on. Bursting my bubbles of thought, I looked at my broken watch clumsily and wondered what the time was. As I peered out through the grills of my bogey and craned my neck up to the sky, I estimated that it was time for my daily prayer. In the hours so close to death, we still don’t try to accept our fate, we always look for a savior to come and take us away from this madness.

With a silent Amen, I ended my prayer and let the silence empower me. Bound in these shackles, I wondered where this train was taking me to. I remember my neighbor,Milosh telling me once of these ‘camps’ where many were taken bound and gagged and made to work there like slaves. It is sad that he had to be shot at that very instant, I could have received more information on these ‘camps’.

I am not a father, a husband or a brother. I am a violinist. ‘Emily’ I call her and she is my only family. The two of us met in an old antique shop on Rue de Balzac where I had fallen in love the moment I set my sights on her. When I touched her with my bare hands and fiddled her with my stick, magic was at its best. The shopkeeper himself was amazed how well I handled her. It had been 15 years since that meeting and today I had been separated from her forever.

Lost in her thoughts I was so deep that I did not realise the train slowing down to a halt. As the door of the bogie opened, a German in uniform climbed in. As soon as he looked at me, he shouted out something in German and the next thing I know, I was facing the hollow end of the barrel of a rifle.

(to be continued...)