Alyssa Lai (9) | Staff Reporter
I tie my shoes and grab my duffel bag, gearing up for my gloomy newspaper job in the early hours of the morning. Stuffing the bag with newspapers meant for my neighbors, I can’t help but yawn from sheer exhaustion, questioning silently, “How did I end up here?”. With a sigh, I open my front door and hop onto my bicycle, the clock reading only 6:00 am.
It’s the year 4037, the Cedarwood town lost its sparkle, and people are trudging through life with heavy hearts. Streets that were once vibrant are now filled with people wearing expressions of deep sadness. It is as if a gray filter had been cast over the world, making everything seem dull and lifeless, reminiscent of the old photos from the Great Depression. People feel like they are living in a state of gloom as if their happiness had been drained from their lives.
The war is the root of all of this. Ever since, our town has changed drastically and sunlight barely filters through the thick clouds. I continue to ride down Harmony Avenue, tossing newspapers on every doorstep. As I near the end of the street, I pivot onto Main Street and wind through the alleyway, after finishing my deliveries. That’s when I noticed something odd; a gleaming, golden tube, slender and curved, leaning against the brick wall in the alley.
I hadn’t laid eyes on something like that in ages! The last glimpse I had was back at my grandma’s place. This quirky contraption had a rich history, passed down through generations in her family. I vividly remember her revealing it to me, ages ago. Feeling a mix of nostalgia and curiosity, I carefully stowed the odd-looking device in my bicycle basket. With it securely in place, I pedal off, the wind carrying me towards Grandma’s house, to uncover the secrets about this item.
As I reach my grandma’s place, the delightful aroma of pumpkin spice fills the air. Dismounting my bike, I unlock the door, clutching the unusual item in my hand. I make my way to the kitchen, where Grandma is busy baking her renowned pumpkin snickerdoodles. She greets me with a warm hug, handing over a freshly baked cookie. We settle around the kitchen table, and I excitedly share the story of the weird item I discovered.
She breathes in sharply, her eyes welling up with tears of excitement. I jump from my seat, concerned, but she gestures for me to stay put. With a trembling voice, Grandma reveals that the peculiar item is a trumpet, a sight she hasn’t seen in years. During the war, her father, my great-grandfather, passed away. All their precious belongings, including her father’s trumpet, were stowed away in the attic. It was the last gift he gave her, a cherished family tradition. After answering her questions, I finally ask her about her trumpet and if she could assist in repairing mine. Grandma agrees and heads off to the attic.
We spent the whole afternoon working side by side, carefully fixing every part of the trumpet. Why? Well, I want to reconnect the world with music, to spread happiness not just for myself but for others too. We need to break free from this melancholy and realize the significance of cherishing each moment with joy and our loved ones. After many hours of tinkering, oiling every screw, and poring over manuals, we’ve turned this old trumpet into something truly remarkable that I can play.
Grandma and I have crafted a plan. Tomorrow night, during our town square gathering, we will perform the trumpet together. We want to influence positive change in our town. Throughout the night, we practiced a challenging yet melodious piece composed by her father, titled “Songbird’s Whispers.” This intricate melody promises to bring harmony and beauty to our community.
At 5:00 pm, Grandma and I dress in our finest attire, holding trumpets, ready for our eagerly awaited performance at the Town Square meeting. As the townsfolk gather, we introduce ourselves and start playing our enchanting melody. The music flows effortlessly, filling the air with a magical, brassy vibrancy. When the last note fades, a mix of relief and joy wash over me.
A few heartbeats pass before the first claps echo. I lift my eyes to witness everyone, standing with beaming smiles and contagious laughter. Their genuine joy washes over me like a wave, filling my heart with warmth. At that moment, I held my grandma close, feeling an overwhelming surge of emotion. We bow together, the sound of applause surrounding us like a comforting hug. In that simple act of recognition, I find the strength to believe in the power of our music and the dreams I hold to reshape our town.
