Scars and Songs

“There it is! Another knockout by the mighty Gull!”

The call of the referee resonated throughout the cobblestone square of the so-called Shantytown again. The audience cheered or groaned as the money they bet was collected by the winner of tonight’s fist fight. He was a slim but well-built man in his early twenties with dirty blonde hair and a scar on the left side of his face. The defeated fighter was much more muscular and gigantic, but for some reason, he could never win against Gull. 

Gull bounced the bag containing his earnings up and down on his palm as he escaped the crowd of immigrants who, like him, were deprived of the opportunity to rise in society like normal citizens. However, he wasn’t exactly dissatisfied with his current life. Though he wasn’t rich like the city folks, he had strength and fame. Those were all he needed in this unbalanced and corrupted country.

He walked through a dark alley lined with short, half-dilapidated buildings and some barbed wire fences. There were puddles created by the rain from last night and piles of trash where flies and rats made homes out of. 

“Hey, Gull!” 

Gull looked up to see the three hoodlums who usually gathered in this alley to gossip about their community and trade food and cigarettes with those who were part of their network.

“You wanna share some of that golden load with us soon?” one of the three men said to Gull with a smirk.

“Sure, if you’re willing to get a punch or two from me.” Gull replied, casually walking past the hoodlums with a carefree look on his face. His fame as an exceptionally strong fighter got him out of every situation, and no one except for those secret organizations murdering people in the shadows could get in his way.

Just when Gull was about to reach the end of the alleyway, he suddenly started hearing the faint strumming of a guitar. It was a very soft tune that entered his system like the sweet fragrance of an aroma candle. It didn’t suit the atmosphere of this town at all. Due to its irregularity, Gull was prompted to walk directly towards it, setting foot in a district he didn’t come to very often. He was surrounded by old buildings inhabited by the poor but pure people of the town, and about ten of them had gathered around the source of the gentle music, a small man wearing a grayish-green bucket hat with holes here and there and a shawl with black and brown stripes. He had messy black hair that was long enough to reach his shoulders, looked around the same age as Gull, and was sitting on a wooden crate beside a street lamp that acted as his spotlight, strumming a battered, old-looking guitar. There was a little cup by his foot for the audience to drop coins in. So far, there were only a few.

Gull stood still for a minute to watch the man as he began to sing. His voice was quiet and a bit hoarse, but it was soft like the spring breeze, matching perfectly with the sound of the guitar. The words that came out of his mouth seemed like they carried much more meaning than the lyrics of any other song Gull had heard lately:

Thousands of miles we’ve journeyed

Do they serve any purpose?

The battles for rights continue

And our world heads straight for doom

At least, let’s hope

Let’s pray that our children know

Of our journeys, our pain, our effort

At least, memory will remain

Gull began to approach the man, and with each step he took, the audience backed away and fled, one by one. They were obviously afraid of him and wanted to avoid his attention. But he didn’t care. The only thing he saw right now was the musician sitting before him.

The man stopped strumming his guitar when Gull crouched in front of him, and he looked up at the scarred face of the fighter in a long, khaki green coat. 

“What are you singing about?” Gull asked with an intrigued expression.

The man replied softly in a sincere tone, “Peace and equality.”

“Peace and equality?” Gull chuckled. “You a preacher or something?”

“No. I’m just an ordinary musician.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but there’s no such thing as peace or equality around here. Not in a million years.”

“I can understand why you would feel that way. I believe in the hearts of the people, though. And I’m going to do everything I can to bring them closer to an ideal society.”

Gull was honestly a bit surprised. He sensed something different from this musician. He couldn’t sense any malice or ill intent from the man. He was simply…clean. 

“You’re crazy, you know that? Real crazy.” Gull said, opening up his bag of money. “...But I’m interested. I want to see how this plan of yours will turn out.”

Gull took out two gold coins and dropped them into the cup by the man’s foot. The man stared at the cup with wide eyes before looking back up at Gull.

“Name’s Gull.” Gull said with a smirk.

The man smiled. “Angel.”

Gull slowly stood up, saying, “Continue, Angel.”

Angel resumed his song, and Gull remained in his spot as the sole audience, listening to the musician’s prayers for peace. Gull decided that he was going to leave some space in his heart for Angel. He could spare a few coins for the sad little man. All he needed to do was wait until Angel was ready to give up and accept reality. He was going to see if Angel was any different from those who failed to lead the people of Shantytown towards the light in the past.

Gull came to see Angel play several times during the next few weeks. He always performed in the same spot by the street lamp, and he did so for at least five hours every single day regardless of how many people were there to applaud for him. 

One afternoon, Gull sat next to Angel while he took a ten-minute break in the middle of his performance. Whenever Gull was present, no one tried to approach the area, and Angel didn’t seem to care.

“I’ve always been wondering…” Gull said, biting into an apple. He was holding a paper bag containing three more apples in his other hand. “What motivated you to start all of this?”

Angel ran his hands over his guitar and looked down at its wooden surface as he explained slowly, “My parents participated in the Central Tower Demonstration ten years ago. They pushed past the police and marched all the way to the city to speak their hearts. They tried to show everyone that immigrants deserve to have a voice. I’ve respected them so much. I want to be inspiring and influential like them. They were killed in an anti-immigrant terrorist attack, but that doesn’t mean their efforts were in vain. The people remember the demonstration like it was yesterday, and I’m sure it did have some sort of effect on our society.”

Angel paused for a moment before saying with a smile, “The only things I can offer are my songs, but I’m hoping they’ll make a difference.”

Gull couldn’t make any cynical remarks like usual in response to Angel’s story. He was more desperate than Gull had thought, and his convictions were quite grand, though there was no knowing when he was going to abandon them.

Gull pulled out another apple from his paper bag, wiped it on his sleeve, and handed it to Angel.

“Here,” he said. “You’re gonna need some extra energy before this break’s over.”

Angel stared at the apple for a moment before receiving it with a fulfilled smile. “Thank you.”

Gull wasn’t exactly sure why he was being kind to Angel, but there was something that tied a bond between them. He was going to consider Angel as a truthful man for now, and he was probably a bit excited about the results Angel’s efforts were going to produce. Gull was also impressed with Angel’s voice, his gentle songs that seemed to caress people and accept them just as they were. Overall, Angel was a unique person. And Gull wished to entertain himself by seeing through Angel’s journey. By embracing the effect Angel’s songs had on his scars.