"I wonder ..."
Puu places his dry, chapped lips slowly over the mouthpiece and stripes himself of his sense of vision. He gave this artifact its duly undivided attention; to muddle and convolute his first memory of the sound that resonates through the air with the sight of his unruly abode, would be disrespectful to his exuberantly rare treasure. He desired a pure thought of the waves he was about to bestow onto his dismal memories.
"... what am I going to hear?"
Puu gasped for air and slowly began to exhale, scrutinizing every subtle variation from nanosecond to nanosecond. The sound started to enumerate in his mind. He fervently attempted to access and associate this sound with other instruments he has heard before. It sounded a lot like an oboe, but lower in pitch. It was distinct in sound, subtle, but noticeable, almost as if this instrument was a fusion of various flutes. The sound that flowed, like a calm river on a warm summer day, was quiet and soft, leaving only a small trace of echoes, reverberating from the nearby walls. He obsessively imbued himself in the sound, until he began to notice through his weary eyelids that various lights emanated about him. Hesitantly, he opened his lids and gasped. For a brief instant, he saw himself, playing what was thought to be an oboe, in front of a mysteriously gloomy and mystified mountain-side. The brief image, although discernible, was pixelated and quite unclear. the only reason he knew exactly what he was viewing is because it was the distinct frame of imminent thought he was upholding in his bewildered mind.
The second after he gasped from astonishment, the cloud that resonated about him, and the vision of himself that was encapsulated by the mist of elegant brevity, vanished, as quickly as it was viewed. His heart was pounding through his feeble chest; a plethora of thoughts rushed through his consciousness, like a waterfall that is too steep to uniformly plunder the water that leaves its apex, and chaotically dissimilates onto the rippling river below.
His eyes were wide open, desensitized by his surroundings, he finally grappled the thought, that will inevitably alter his life and concurrent misadventures: "This instrument is the missing puzzle piece to my somber, desolate being, and it is my duty to insure I master the intricacies and the entirety of this... peculiar tool of articulation and beauty."
