my second assignment

The violinist

An old lady in an elegant dark suit walks gracefully past him with her eyes looking straight arrogantly. The golden necklace and diamond rings on her fingers glitters in the sun. He feels in his pocket trying to find one cent, but in vain.
A middle-aged man in a crumpled suit looking at his watch rushes past the old lady; the notebook computer bag in his hand rocks back and forth as if running too. He looks at the man resentfully wandering why this man looks much stupider than him can have a job but he even lost his poor job?
Right in the opposite of the street the young lovers hold each other tight. The girl nestles her head on the boy’s shoulder and locks her arms about his neck. One of the boy’s hands surrounds her waist while the other caresses her lovingly. He mumbles that if only his girlfriend didn’t leave him.
A restaurant’s big window wall with colorful spray paint saying “MERRY CHRISTMAS” acts as the background of the couple. The Christmas father in the picture pasted on the wall is smiling at him as if saying:” It is no use pulling a long face. Try to smile.” The smell of the roasted duck wafts across the street which makes him mouth water. His stomach is growling as a result of nothing to eat for one day.
Together with the smell, an 8-year-old girl scampers across the street. Her laughing face is just like the balloon floating in the sky with thread in her hands. This scene reminds him of his childhood. At the thought that the worry-free time has gone and will never come back he can’t help grieving.
Drawing back his sight, he opens his calabash-like violin box slowly. He looks at his violin with mixed feelings. The red velveteen underlay is just like the girl’s skirt of cambric. His delicate violin lies inside: its smooth board reflects sunshine to attract pedestrians’ attention, while the two f-holes are just like his handlebar, and the violin string is so old that it loses the desired tone. He pulls out the bow and picks the rosin to wipe the string carefully, after that he use his slim fingers to take out a cloth and wipe off the remaining rosin. Then he holds the neck of the violin and pulls it out of the box and rests left side of his jaw on the chinrest of the violin, he is quite proficient because everything has happened uncountable times before, except that this time it happens in the crowded street.
The pleasant, lingering sound of the violin flies over the street.
Pedestrians soon gather and make a ring round the violinist. In front of them, the tall and scraggy player wears a crumpled blue shirt, his long hair floats in the wind as well as his loose oily old pair of jeans. He stands there stably like a thin bamboo deep rooted into the ground. With his eyes closed, obviously he is enchanted in his music world.
People whisper with each other. One girl censures his boyfriend: “why can’t you play violin so? How romantic it is!” A middle-aged lady has an air of complacency and warns her son that: “Now you see, if you don’t listen to me and go on playing, you will like him.” Another middle-aged woman says:” what is he doing? Showing off in the street? Why don’t guys do their jobs hard, I can’t understand why the youth nowadays don’t have ambitions?” in a shrill voice. The old lady says:” What a poor boy!” in kindness and put ten dollars in the ground before him. “Stop!” the 8-year-old girl shouts, “He is an artist, he plays violin here to devote himself to art not for money. How can you treat him as a beggar?” The old lady flushes crimson with embarrassment and gets back her money quickly and makes profuse apologies to the violinist. The girl is proud of what she has done and the audience nods in agreement with her. The face of the violinist is red too, in his mind, what the girl says SHOULD be right, he should not be a beggar, but he has no choice, he is a beggar now, he plays violin hoping to get money. What he wants is money not art, now he realizes that art is useless, only money is amiable, only money can feed him. He cries:” I want MONEY! MONEY! MONEY! Give me MONEY!” However he dares not to speak out. All these thoughts can only be buried in his heart. His face is convulsed with sadness and tears run across his face. Seeing this, the girl says:” What a good artist!”, people appreciate him more and have a good round of applause for him because they think the tears show that he flings himself into the plaintive melody body and soul.
For days on end, not a cent is collected.
But one morning, when the violinist wakes up, he emits a cry of pain! His violin is lost! Someone must have stolen his violin when he was sleeping in the street. He drops into desperation. The violin is the only tool for him to make a living!
Suddenly his eyes are lightening up. Guess what he sees? COINS! Coins are lying on the ground before him. At the moment, an old man bends down and gives him 10 dollars, saying with a sympathetic look:” Go to buy some bread, my poor guy.” He thanks the man sincerely and stuffs the money into his empty pocket. He picks up the coins one by one and counts them with great satisfaction. His laughing face is like a sunflower, expanding wildly in the sunshine…
In the world, another beggar is born and a violinist is dead.

She is in the street

Her long hair is flying about in the wind. Her slight frame is in a white dress. She walks with fast steps.
She stops to see the time, only1 minute left. She bows her head and walks faster.
Stores in the roadside are flying in the opposite direction. The hubbub is evaporating in the sunshine. All kinds of cars spreads horizontally in the road. The irregular arrangement of cars in the road forms a labyrinth, she goes through pathways sidewaysly.
The air curdles to become a big jelly isolating all sound letting the sinister sunshine permeates. It is a hot jelly, like the warm in the bed in winter morning.
She doesn't have a umbrella with her. She meets the sun in the window of the car. It is laughing with teeth out and streches its arms to hold her to its bosom.
The high-heeled shoes are knocking her heel. She knocks the ground heavily to make her too aching to feel the pain.
The high-heel of the shoe is a walking stick, which appears when we don't need it to afflict ourselves. So when we are old, we can't leave the support of the real walking stick.
Sweat runs around her body wilfully like the bostonivy.
It is so hot that she wants to take off her dress.
But she knows, what chothes are used for, to keep from shame.
Surprisingly, she finds that people in the street are primitive humanbeings
They have no shame!