He was walking on a line, whistling to himself, when he noticed out of the corner of his eye a flash of red. Turning, he stopped whistling. That's when he heard a lighter tune than his own. He followed the sound with his eyes until they fell upon the sight of her. He'd never seen anyone like her before. She spoke to him, and it was like poetry. The words didn't make any sense, but their sounds were pleasing. They flowed out of her mouth and painted a picture before him, something straight from his dreams. He lifted his gaze from her lips to her hair. It was soft like red satin, and made gentle waves in the passing breeze.

He felt he should get closer to bask in her presence. He inhaled deeply and walked forward. He watched the ground ahead of him, not wanting to spoil the dream of her sight.

Only a few feet now and he hardly dared to look up, yet his dream was already gone. The song coming from her was no longer light and pleasing. The notes were sour and desperate. The words she spoke fell dead on his ears. Her hair was no longer the gentle satin, but more like wisps of fire. In her eyes he noticed a longing he couldn't answer to. Where did my dream go? he wondered.

He turned his back to her in disappointment and continued on his way, following the same line and whistling his tune. From behind him the words, once dead, lifted off the ground; their sounds desperately tried to find his ears, but only the sound of his whistling could be heard as he slowly walked away.