The Tones From A 7-year Old Boy The 7- year old boy played the violin like it was a monster he had to slay, but instead of blood there were tones. Beautiful tones indeed, but there was something dark behind them. He finished the last tone and looked for an approving smile from his father. But there wasn't, like every other time. "You're doing it wrong, you need more heart in it, you need to mark some of the pauses. It sounds horrible!" They were in a practice room at the International Music School For Children. The boy was to practice every day from 10am to 11pm. It was just 2pm. And his hands ached already from the playing. "I am sorry father, but could I not get a rest?" "No, you have to practice. You have to practice to get better. To become better than all the others." The boy sighed and started to make the melodies again, thinking about the pauses, but still didn't playing with his heart in it. It was about 12pm and he lied in his bed. He was to sleep for a couple of hours to then get up and play again. But, he thought to himself, it was to much, his father pressed him all the time. He wasn't a machine. The next day went past like every other. Until when he was to end for the day his father told him to continue. "Bur father, I need some sleep." "You can sleep when you're better. I'm going to take a coffe, you keep playing." The father left the room and left the boy alone in the practice room. His grip hardened around the violin. His father was so unfair, always making him practice. He pushed him way to far. Now he couldn't even sleep?! The boy looked at the violin. He smiled a weird and disturbed smile. He had an idea. A fatal idea, but it would work. He attached one of the strings, a thin but rather sharp. He made a knot around a small pole with one end and then he grabbed the other end. He screamed of pain and bit holes in his lips. He cried and sobbed but kept doing it. He wasn't to practice anymore. You can't practice without fingers. And he didn't have any fingers anymore.