Everyone knew Richard Stanton and his violin as the greatest musicians of this time. Whenever they decided to perform the concert was always sold out within only a few days. Mr. Stanton and his violin were a wonderful team that both reveled in the limelight, bowing gracefully to all the admirers. They were inseparable and his violin was treated with more care than Mr. Stanton would show his own family.
It all ended overnight with a hand injury and the violin remained in its suppressing case, its talent squandered away. Not understanding this strange and lonely turn of events, the violin grew sad, its polish slowly coming off giving it a duller red.
After weeks of being left alone, Mr. Stanton finally took the violin out of its case, but with his right hand instead of his left which was rather unusual. There was no feeling of camaraderie anymore, but was replaced by the smallest hint of animosity as Mr. Stanton carried the small violin outside and into the woods near his house. The cold air of winter harshly attacked the delicate wood of the violin and it never felt more vulnerable as tiny white flakes melted upon its dull, red body.
My Stanton finally halted after what seemed like hours. The violin was miserable and cold, but excited its friend would once again play a sweet melody. However, it was mistaken as Mr. Stanton placed the violin in the icy snow, leaning it against a tree. He gave it a long stare before sighing and turning around to head back to the warm fire in his house.
For several nights the violin sat abandoned, deteriorating in the woods, its only friends were the few animals that were curious enough to approach it. Nights turned into weeks and then turned into years. The forgotten violin grew old, tired, and its former beauty was completely lost. The violin became just another piece of the forest, but it still grasped the memories of its glory days filled with love and companionship while it slowly began to fall apart.