A Note From Barney

[JaiBrooksForever<3]

This is an entry in a writing competition. I know it's not that good, it's definitely not my best work but it's only something I pieced together in about an hour, so I hope you enjoy it. I'll probably do an extended version but I'm pressed for time right now.

-A Note From Barney, by GirlWhoWrites-

The sky was an auburn canvas, dotted with dim dusty stars that seemed to dance slowly around each other. Wisps of soft grey cloud congregated in clusters; which birds hid behind as they flew drowsily across the sky.
Although it was already five in the evening, the stream of people never stopped, the gardens were never completely quiet.
That’s as much as you can expect from London though, behind me I could hear a rough, aging voice softly singing Scarborough Fair and strumming of a guitar as little kids happily bounced over to the player to drop a couple of silver pennies in the black cap laid out by his feet.
I sat on the wooden stool, just a little way in front of the man that who was still singing, he stopped briefly to smile up at me, “Are you okay there Caterina?” he asked in a husky tone, his voice cracking slightly at the end of his sentence.
I nodded, “Yeah. I’m fine.” I squeaked a little as I replied.
He nodded swiftly and went back to playing and the steady pattern of children coming and going started up once again.
I’ve been sitting, for two days now, hearing this man play.
I have no information on him at all, yet he knows things about me.
My name…Caterina.
My age…fourteen.
I guess I’m just not that great and keeping secrets.
Someone asks me something and before I even think about how I’m going to reply, the answer just slips out.
I don’t know anything about this mysterious guitar player…I try to guess things about him from looking at him.
He’s at least seventy…the wrinkles and wisdom in his eyes give his age away.
I’ve never really known any old people, never any grandparents or anything…well not one’s who really cared.
If I had someone who cared then I wouldn’t be sitting here in Rosehill Gardens with a seventy year old man who I don’t even know the name of.
I know he hates tweed though, yesterday another man came through selling hats and tried to get us to buy a tweed hat, he expressed utter disgust for it and seemed outraged at the idea of letting the thing touch his head. The guy obviously got impatient and tried to steal the cap full of money but we moved to a different area and managed to keep our money.
He also has a tiny little bear that’s tucked into his top jacket pocket with a tiny little label attached to his ear.
With Love From Rosie.
I wonder who Rosie is? Is she his granddaughter? Sister? Neighbour?
What’s this guy’s name?
Maybe I should just ask him, I’m just not quite sure how.
The guitar playing suddenly stopped and the instrument got set down at my feet.
“Muuuum! He stopped playing! I don’t want him to stop!” A little boy, who couldn’t have been more than five years old, whined.
“Are you taking a break?” I asked, turning around so I could see his face.
He paused for a moment before shaking his head, “I’m done for the night Caterina.” He said gruffly, “It’ll be too dark to-“he broke off into a coughing fit.
I sat there helplessly for a moment before stretching out one hand to pat him on the back before I stopped again and just stayed with my hand out stretched.
He’s old and ill. What if I break him? He looks so fragile…
“Are you okay?” I asked looking at him, feeling alarmed.
He glared at me slightly as he replied, as if the last thing he wanted is for someone to look after him, “I’m fine.” He muttered, picking up the guitar with one shaking hand and then gathering up the coins that had strayed from the hat.
I didn’t reply but instead got off the stool so he could take it, I don’t know where he goes for the night.
I think he sleeps in the car park between the two ticket meters; I usually just sleep in the toilets.
At the end of the day at around seven, a cleaner comes in so that they’re all clean for the people coming into the park the next morning.
I wait till they’re cleaned and the paper towels have been restocked and the sleep in a basin, it’s not that bad.
It’s one of the long metal ones, not individual sinks, so I should be grateful that I’m not tall and if I wasn’t slim before then after not eating properly, I seem to have dropped quite a bit of wait.
I’m one of those people who doesn’t gain weight, but easily loses it instead.
There’s actually a shower in there too because of a camping site that’s practically next door to the gardens but it’s temperamental and the water’s always cold when it is working.
People have come in and I’ve been asleep in the basin but In think they just assume I’m drunk.
Not likely, I’ve never had so much of a sip of wine, not even a little bit from my Mum’s glass like all kids clamour to do when they’re little, you want to be just like your Mum.
I don’t want to be anything like my Mum…I don’t want to be a mother who hates her own daughter for something that isn’t even her fault.
Bottom line my Mother is crazy, six months ago my Dad upped and left in the middle of the night and we haven’t seen him since.
But Mum couldn’t come to terms with the possibility that he may have left her for another woman.
It’s never her fault, it has to be mine.
I’m never the daughter she wanted me to be.
She wanted me to be a smart, pretty and like all the things she likes.
But I’m none of those things; I’m short, normal sized when I’m not food deprived, with brown-blonde hair and blue-grey eyes. I’m bottom subject in Math and English and I’ve completely flunked Science.
The only thing I’m good at is art, Dad was a street artist and when I was younger he used to take me out with him and teach me out to sketch and do pavement drawings.
I definitely loved him more than Mum.
It scares me how quickly those feelings of love have changed to hate.
I never liked Mum though; at least she got what she always wanted.
A house without me in it.
But it’s okay…I’m used to feeling unwanted.
. . .
I tried to get comfortable in the sink, it’s not easy.
I pulled myself upward and leaned over slightly too grab some more paper towels from the dispenser and then added them to the pile that I was using as a pillow, at the rate I’m going they’ll be none left tomorrow.
I lay back down, squeezing my eyes tightly shut and trying not to remind myself that I was in the pitch black.
I hate the dark.
So many things can hide in it, you don’t know what’s there.
But too scared to turn on the light, then I wouldn’t be able to sleep and if anything was there, then…it would be scary.
But I need to ignore the dark, and the smelling off the cleaning chemicals.
. . .
I walked over to where the old man was usually playing.
He’s not there.
I looked up at the sky…it’s been raining the whole morning.
Where is he?
I thought…I mean…maybe he was looking out for me-oh?
“Squeak!”
W-what was that?
I looked down, it’s the bear.
That bear from Rosie…whoever Rosie is.
I picked it up and looked at the label, reading the message again.
There’s something on the other side.
Take care Caterina, Barney.
Barney.
Where is he?
Where did he go?
I looked around, the rush of people was just the same.
However it was different.
There were no kids stopping to drop money in Barney’s hat.
Because Barney wasn’t playing.
Barney wasn’t there at all, it doesn’t even look like he was here this morning, would there be some trace?
Just this bear.
Take care Caterina.
With the note attached.
Barney.
He’s gone.

-The End-

If you have any feedback then just post below, please only constructive critism, I KNOW it was rushed okay? Thankyou.