Belonging

It was 3.30pm; I was strolling home in my quiet, isolated suburban street, having finished school just moments ago. As I arrive home, I find my parents not to be at home, as I opened the door of my majestically standing home, it was not to my surprise to only be greeted by the silence that bounced off the beige walls and the occasional hissing of my Persian cat. Abandoning the company of the cat, I went outside and decided to lie tranquilly under my favourite hefty tree, which was found amid the neatly trimmed turf. The striking array of daffodils and the soothing aromas they breathed out created a pleasant sensation, comforting me. Looking ahead I spotted the gunmetal silver vehicle approaching which was just on time. I waved my arms frantically to draw attention to the dazzling, polished Ford and to my relief the car suddenly stopped in a croaking halt, parking between the beamers nearby. I confirmed the travel cost of $10 before entering into the taxi, positioning my Violin case across the backseat. I opened my diary instructing him to escort me to 42 Blane Street, Wentworthville which was on the other side of town to attend my first Violin lesson.

Travelling along the vacant, stretched highway the driver speed’s intensely. My alertness increases, recalling my parents’ words concerning the dangers of travelling in an unknown vicinity. Contrastingly, the heavenly music of Mozart played softly through my earphones on my iPod, providing me sense of encouragement to become the most talented violin player and endeavour to be the finest. The sense of isolation slowly begins to increase as the sonata drew closer to a climax. It seemed as if I was travelling on a road which leads to nowhere. I felt the shivers running down my back and a wave of certainty washed over me as we gradually progressed to a new unfamiliar environment.

Suddenly, far in the distance a red brick building is in my sight. A nearby sign board reveals that the building is my destination,...