The Harp

another composition i wrote during bridging class. enjoy! ;D

A beam of sunlight filtered through the dense forest, dazling Chris’ eyes. He woke up from his tender sleep and looked around. It was so serene, nothing could be heard except the whooshing sound of the wind, the water trickling, and the chirping of the birds producing sweet melodies. Chris washed his filthy body and prepared himself to continue his journey. Apart from his loyal dog, Cowby, he was all alone in that dark, misty forest. Afraid as he was, he was still somehow competent to keep on reassuring himself to find that fascinating harp.

Chris came from a broken, poor family, where happiness was merely an illusion. His dad had left him and his mom 2 years ago and married another woman. His mom was not more than a maid in a nobel family. Life in the mid 1980s, in a small village in France was tough. His daily activities were filled with going around collecting garbage and if he was lucky enough, getting usable second-hand materials from people in the neighbourhood.

One sunny day, when he was walking in the nearby city, his eyes focused into a small stall at the corner of the street that was not there before. Something fascinated him. He gazed at an elegant, ancient book as if he had found an uncomparable treasure. The stall owner, a beautiful lady with flawless complexio,n approached him and with a velvety voice, offered him the book. He was overjoyed.

He cheerfully walked home, whistling along the way, and started reading the book. It told the story of an old man with a mystical harp given by a goddess. The goddess was playing the harp on a rock in a river and it sounded so heavenly peaceful. An old man on a pilgrimage passed by and was mesmerized by the melody. The goddess, seeing the sincere heart of the old man, then gave the harp to him. She said, “Play the harp whenever you feel gloomy, whenever you see someone dejected, and the harp will give you such peace that compares to nothing else in the world.” Then without the old man noticing, the goddess suddenly dissapeared.

From that moment when he finished reading the book onwards, Chris kept on daydreaming about finding the harp. He longed so desperately to feel even the slightest bit of happiness. He wanted to pursue that contentment no matter what. He believed that it was not something mystical and he was determined to find it.

He visualized the place where the story took place and suddenly a flash of memory entered his mind. He remembered the exact same place to be the place in the forest where his mother used to take him and play with Cowby a long, long time ago when he was still about 3 years old. He believed that the story was real and had happened a long time ago. He even thought that the lady who gave him the book was the goddess herself who reappear on earth to help him. The journey thus began.

Now, here he was, on his eighteenth day wandering around in the forest. He had no idea which direction to lead, no food with him – nothing. He left everything he owned for this destined journey. He simply relied on his imagination and let his instict lead him. A lot had happened during those eighteen days journey. He often stumbled and fell, caught by the snaking roots and was drenched. Along the way, he often doubted the existence of that harp. There were times when he just felt like giving up. How can I be so stupid, he thought, that was merely a fairy tale, nothing more. He felt so idiotic to have let his innocence consumed him and believed such story.

Yet, deep down, he could feel something urging him so strongly to continue. Thus, after he washed his body and nudged Cowby to wake up, he sauntered deeper into the forest, watching carefully his every step, and keep an eye on the surrounding, in case there were signs of a river nearby.

He finally felt it! A wave of joy washed over him. He felt it was coming near. There was an opening on the forest, and he could see brief spells of watery sunshine. The river he had imagined all along was right there. He began to search for the harp fervently. Just when he was tired and almost lost home, he saw something gleaming from afar.

A golden harp.

It was there. It was real. Right in front of him. So it’s true, he thought, it’s really true.