art

My father once told me that real art isn’t something you can see, hear, or touch. Real art, in the simplest sense, is a feeling. It used to course through my veins, as important as any organ. Before the training began, real art was all I’d ever known. And as I run from the place I call home, I realise that I need it now more than ever.

“April! There you are!” My father walked over to the tree and looked up, smiling. “We have to go, monkey. The concert is about to start. You don’t want to miss it, do you?” He reached up and tickled me. I shrieked with laughter. “Ok, Dad, let’s go.” I clambered onto his shoulders and we walked over to the auditorium.

The music is playful, a lilting melody that makes me smile. I lean against the wall, close my eyes, and listen. It’s Mozart, one of the classics my dad used to love. He played it on the piano all the time, and I accompanied him on his violin. The violin I’m carrying in my hands now, my only chance of survival.

“April! We have to go now!” He looks angry now, so different from the smiling man who used to climb the tree with me instead of pulling me down. I know better than to argue with him, so I jump down from the tree and run after him. “Today, we are going to talk to Mr Hughes. We are going to tell him what you can do,” he says, briskly. Surprised, I look up at him. I think he’s serious. “You told me I didn’t have to worry until I was 16,” I mumble. He sighs and shakes his head, resigned. “I told him, April. But some things are just out of my control.”

“Hey! You! Come here!” Startled, I look back to see a guard jogging towards me. Grimacing, I turn towards him. His face twists as he recognises me. I sigh. I had hoped he’d just turn around and walk away. “Sorry, sir, but this must be done,” I say quietly. He freezes, his eyes wide, as I stretch my hand out. I watch as his jaw goes slack and he drops to the ground. He will wake up a few days later with no memory except his own name. I stopped feeling guilty a while ago, ever since I was told that nobody could be trusted.

My father knocks on the door three times and waits. When nobody answers, he turns to the receptionist. “I have to speak to Mr Hughes,” he says gruffly. The receptionist looks up at him and smiles brightly. “I’m sorry, sir, but you cannot speak to him at the moment,” she replies.

He groans in frustration. “You don’t understand. Tell him I’ve brought the girl.”

Her eyes widen. “I understand quite well, sir, but I’m afraid he’s not here today.”

“What? How is that possible?” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and makes a call.

I start running again, afraid that someone is going to see the guard’s body and follow me. The sun is setting rapidly, the sky darkening to a deep purple. I have around three hours left, and I’m not even close. I take a sharp turn into a dark alley and stop, out of breath. I sit against a wall, hidden by the shadows, and unzip the violin case. Dad’s violin sits inside, the polished wood gleaming even in the darkness. I run my fingers over each of the heart-shaped tuning pegs, trying to see if they detach. Suddenly, something moves.

Dad turns to me and takes my face in his hands. “April,” he whispers, “Someone found out about you, and they’re coming to get us. I’m going to throw something in a second, okay? And you need to start running.” Before I can question anything, he starts talking again. “People are going to start screaming. Someone might get hurt, but you can’t stop running.” I’m scared now, not sure what he’s about to do. “Go home, April. Get my violin,” he’s quieter when he says that word, “And run to Craydon House before midnight. When you’re far enough from the house, open the case and look for a paper. It will tell you everything you need to know.” Then he stands up, pulls something out of his pocket, and throws it up in the air.

The fourth peg starts turning by itself, creaking as it goes. I watch, amazed, as it unscrews itself from the violin and drops into the case. It is connected to a long silver chain, inlaid with hundreds of glittering gemstones. I pick it up and examine it closely, looking for an opening of some kind. There seems to be a hinge on the left side of the pendant. I press into it with my nail, tentatively making sure it won’t break apart. Just as I’m about to give up, it clicks and swings open. A small piece of paper falls into my hand.

A rancid gas begins filling the room. The receptionist starts screaming. “Use everything I taught you,” Dad shouts. I nod with tears in my eyes and bolt down the stairs. I press the green button used to open the door, but nothing happens. My heart racing, I look around for another exit. Footsteps come thundering down the stairs behind me. I don’t have a choice. I close my eyes and will myself to disappear.

I unfold the paper. It’s flimsy, almost transparent, and very faded. Dear April, if you’re reading this, my worst fear has occurred. Someone knows about what you can do. Here’s what you need to know: two years before you were born, the world ended. And on the 19th of July, 2301, at precisely midnight, it’s going to end again, I read. My heart races as I turn over the paper and see more writing on the back. Everything I’ve taught you, the music, the magic, it’s all important. You were chosen, April. You need to survive. I told you art is a feeling - it’s your job to keep that feeling alive. When you get to the safe house, use this pendant as a key and you will find what you need. Love, Dad. I breathe heavily as I try to process what I’ve just read.

They walk right past me, tall men in black trench coats and bowler hats. As soon as the last one is out of my sight, I let go of the illusion. I collapse onto the floor, my body aching. Then I remember what just happened. I run back up the stairs, afraid to see the damage left behind. The receptionist lies huddled in a corner, but I can see that she’s still breathing. There’s no sign of my father.

A light passes over me. “Hello?” A man’s voice calls. I pull myself together and zip the case up. Putting the paper back into the pendant, I clasp it around my neck. I pick up the case and stand. The man walks closer, shining his flashlight directly at me. “You okay, miss?” he asks. I smile at him and nod. He still looks concerned, but walks away. I start running again.

The full moon hangs high in the sky, reminding me that I need to hurry. I don’t have much time left. I run faster, my legs aching from the effort. I can see Craydon House in the distance, all dark except for a window on the topmost floor. I’m not going to get there on time. I stop and close my eyes. In less than a second, I’m at the front door of Craydon House. I open the door and step inside.

Then the world ends.