Prolog:

Music.

Noun.

Vocal or instrumental sounds (or both) combined in such a way as to produce beauty of form, harmony, and expression of emotion.

As a child I was completely obsessed with music, when my brother started playing the guitar for the first time I was always there while my parents taught him so I could hear the music produced. When my mother brought a radio when I was nine I constantly listened to it when I wasn't working on the family farm. A couple of years later my family invested in a violin and I tried my best to learn but ended up accepting I wasn't meant to play, I was meant to listen. So when a new family moved into the old abandoned house that used to be the old farm house, opposite us and brought a piano with them. Of course I was interested in them.

I remember the day they moved in, it was late and I was just finishing off my chores when a loud and noisy automobile pulled up the drive with a large transport truck behind it. Curious, I climbed the farm gate and sat on top of it as the family parked by the old farm house.

I was confused because nobody had lived there in years. Legend said (and by legend I mean my parents) that the house used to belong to my grandfather before there was a gas leak. Since we lived in the country, no plumbers could come and fix it so our grandfather rebuild the barn which is now our house.

A couple of years later, on a stormy night, my dad thought it was a good idea to go "exploring" and brought a packet of matches with him to act as light.

Of course the result wasn't the nicest if you put the two together but he lived, my grandfather fixed the gaping hole in the roof and walls, but since then our family has left it there. I suppose my dad didn't like the thought of living in the place that blew up.

Suddenly I realised, for people to live there, they must of contacted my family to buy it. But I hadn't known about it! I was quickly filled with rage with was swiped away by my parents telling me to get off the gate so they could pass through.

"Mum, mum, what's going on?" I say, jumping off and landing in the wet mud.

"Neighbours, that's what's going on." She said.

"I don't like the sound of that." I stuck my tounge out, "what if they have kids and they start messing about on the farm?"

This was of course referring to the gang of teenagers that had pillaged the farm years ago, since then, other human contact (apart from family of course,) was frowned upon in my books.

"They won't." My dad says, shutting the gate behind him.

I climb back up and shake my head. "I bet on it, where's Boomer? He'd agree with me!"

Just then my brother, Boomer, climbs the gate and sits beside me. "Here." He says in his deep voice. 

"Boomer, there's people!" I say, appalled.

He shrugged, "can't be that bad." My brother was two years older than me, making him fifteen. He had wavy brown hair in need of a haircut, most of it covered his eyes. He had bright blue eyes and often wore hoodies.

I crossed my arms as I watched my parents greet the family.

"Hey look, Sweets, they have a piano!" He points at the men unloading a large piano from the truck.

"Oh!" My opinion of them instantly changed, "they have to be great people then."

Boomer laughed at my child like attitude.

"Wanna go up and say hi?"

I suddenly felt extremely shy so I shook my head, "maybe later." I said.

"Alright then."

Instead we stayed on the gate and watched them unpack until our parents told us to get back in the house.