OVERTURE to Nocturn, Second Movement (Part Six)

The old Virginia Orphanage stood over the uneven landscape of the outskirts of the forest like a vulture over a cliff. The dilapidated red truck pulling up in front of the effigy breaks a young boy's reverie. Outside, a desolate scene of grey stormy skies threatening a storm was broken by the hint of pink in the clouds by a far off sunset. A strange man walks out of the red truck, the sole source of color in the boy's field of vision. He puts his nose against the glass, fascinated by what he sees.

A large, old man with a full beard and eyepatch pulls out an old wood cane and shambles towards the entrance. The red-cheeked fellow resembled a giant dwarf in a flannel shirt and farmer's cap. The small child sprints downstairs with anticipation and hope.

The man walks towards an apprehensive receptionist dressed in the same grey that covers the walls. A thick Scottsman's accent poured from the wily old man's lips, "Do you have the custody of a Charley Androwe?"

"Grandpa!", there was the young boy on the stairs. He was painfully thin, with a heart shaped face, large blue eyes, and was in light blue pajamas. It had to be his grandfather.

"Charley!," and the old man scooped up the boy with one arm. The two turned towards the door, as if that was that, when the receptionist said "Yes, this is Charlemagne Androwe, but we need to go through the procedures. You've never mentioned a grandfather, Charlemagne."

"But he has to be, he's the man from the dream!"

"Ma'am, I'll be taking the boy home today. Don't worry, I'm the real thing."

Some other staff approached from what seemed like nowhere all, and the commotion volume arose steadily as the man holding the boy begain to struggle away from the orphanage staff. Then the old man did something drastic:

Placing the boy down, from his now free hand he pulled out a revolver. They were all silent and placed themselves against the walls.. The two backed out and got into the red truck. The skies over the forest cleared up, letting the sunset through. On that beatiful evening, in only two, unexplained minutes, the staff of the Virginia Orphanage, nor the rest of the established world, would ever hear of the white-haired boy named Charlemagne again.