The hunt.

The man in the once black Metallica t-shirt looked up with a small smile as the bell to the music shop chimed with the opening of the door. In strode a girl with blue and green hair, a black face mask, purple coat and home made fingerless gloves. He nodded as she saw him and then walked around the shop, first looking at the guitars, tilting her head a touch at times to marvel at the craftsmanship. Or was it to look at the prices? Her hands reached forward for a moment towards the red and white flying v, fingers twitching in mid air then quickly retreating from the shiny body of the guitar.

He knew the type, often coming in to admire the instruments eyes wide and heads full of dreams. There were some people who walked around like clockwork every week measuring up their desires, looking at the instruments that would bring them

their desired place in the rock hall of fame. At least that's what they always imagined before remembering that they were tone deaf or that they have a hundred other bills to pay. There was a look in the eyes of people when they realised that another guitar wouldn't help them to pay off their credit card bill that week or make them feel happy. Well at least not in the long term he thought with a tiny smile to himself beneath his black skull and crossbones

facemask.

The girl skipped slightly further down the shop, past the ukuleles and banjos but slowing to nod whilst passing at the pleasing rainbow array of Mahalos. The fingers in the mittens twiddled again as she passed by before being plunged into pockets. The

pace increased past the recorders and wind instruments, the brass section was also avoided before the girl halted once more in front of the keyboards, rocking backwards and forwards on her semi painted dr martens observing both the tempting keys but also the signs requesting that customers not touch what they don’t plan to buy. Those signs should have always been there the man behind the counted thought it would’ve saved me hearing a lot of awful

renditions of pop songs over the years…

Despite that he remembered many years back when he stumbled into a similar shop stuffed with instruments which nearly dazzled him with the beauty of their designs and the potential wonder they would bring. Back in those days it was safe to go around touching the goods in shops and he used to drag his finger tips over the guitar strings and the keyboards as he tried to workout what was for him. Sometimes you had to pick up an instrument to be able to tell that it wouldn’t suit you but now that’s not how things work, you can go around touching half the shop, not unless you want to make everyone ill he thought. These weren’t great times for weighing up the differences in weight or the sound of fingers playing keys to that of a plectrum strumming a string.

Then again, there was something in that melody and the sway of the girl’s coat that was familiar… or was it the smell of bread that chased her around the shop? No that had to be new, last time she smelt of bananas and nutmeg he remembered as he tided his desk trying not to look like the shop had been quiet for days. “Is there anything I can help you with?” Frank ventured as he pushed his long greying hair behind his ears.

“Uh, not right nah ta!” The girl replied while she wandered among the keyboards towards the drum kits.

         “Don’t need any new plectrums or guitar strings for your acoustic? He tried as she tilted her head this way and that looking at the drum kits near the back of the store.

“No, I don’t think so. Gave it a try but, t’were a bit too big in the end so I swapped it with a friend.”

Frank was puzzled, why would someone do that? It was about two months ago that she danced out of the shop with her brand new multicoloured acoustic guitar “urm, what did y’ swap it for?” He asked in spite of himself, almost kicking himself for his curiosity.

“Some crochet needles and yarn, they taught me to make these gloves!” The girl pulled the obviously handmade pink gloves out of her pocket, once she’d untangled the stray threads. “Could you make me a hat or a scarf then?!” He asked trying his best not to laugh as he anticipated her answer.

“No, well I could if you wanted but… well I’ve got a bit bored with it to be honest.” He nodded knowing that she wasn’t going to pick those needles up in the next few years now that they’d been experimented with their novelty was gone.

She circled the drums hungrily like a shark before turning on her heels and investigating some of the smaller instruments that lined the shop, each was being assessed by a set of demands unique to this week’s needs. Could it be carried out of the shop today? Is it attractive and affordable? Is it easy to master? Will it fill the void of not being able to see friends or family? Not a single question was uttered by the girl as she did the calculations in her head looking between a stylophone and a melodica trying to keep the feelings of failure at bay when she saw the unfinished masterpieces on her feet, foiled by a lack of artistic talent and the will to carry on trying. As she saw Frank get up to try to help her she grabbed the purple melodica in rush, yes this will do the trick she told herself as she tried not to involve anyone else in her quarter life crisis, rushing it over to the payment desk before he could approach. Ok, maybe this one will do the trick. I’ll definitely stick to this one  she thought as stroked it’s case, wishing that just this once she would be right.