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Nathaniel's apartment was practically empty, save for a musty bed, a barely stocked refrigerator, and a keyboard with a set of headphones plugged into it so he could play quietly without bringing down the wrath of his neighbors. There were sheets of paper scattered about with snatches of songs that he had started and then discarded for one reason or another. Other than that, his apartment was practically empty. No pictures, no chairs, no tables... just the essentials.

He had paused in his composing to eat, a mechanical thing that he wished wasn't necessary. Nate watched as his bandmates often reveled in their food and drink but for him it was simply fuel. If he did not eat, he would weaken and die and would not have the strength to make more music.

The coyote heard the music in his head, a constant low thrum that flowed like a dream, and he was not ever really truly happy unless he had lost himself within it.

But today something was distracting him. Like a gnat in the room, there was an outside source that jangled his mind and kicked him out of his composition.

He surveyed the room and took stock of everything. The virtue of owning very little was that it was easy to watch all of it at once. But there was nothing that made noise. He did not own a television or a radio or even a computer. His phone was disconnected and his cell had lost its charge days ago. Someone would eventually nag him into turning it on and he would charge it up again, but he hated the thing. It was another distraction from the art.

Finally he concluded that the distraction was not coming from his room. It was midday and his neighbors were at work, but their children were home. Perhaps they were the source of the noise.

Reluctantly he rose and went to the window, peering out at the vacant lot near the building. It was summertime and school was out, but parents still needed to work so the children entertained one another the way children often do, with various games and little social things.

What caught his ear was a snatch of song. It wasn't anything special but it fascinated the coyote. He remembered singing Ring Around the Rosie, London Bridge, Dragon's Whistle, and all of those other singsong games children played. For some reason he had forgotten them until that moment, when snatches of them echoing up from the sandlot stirred his thoughts.

How strange it was that childhood was so easily forgotten. Or else remembered in half truths.

Another thought tugged at him. He had a set tonight, and his childhood was over. This was children's music, and his days of singing about falling bridges and the dragon who pulled his horn off to play it for a king were long behind him.

Reluctantly, Nathaniel closed the window and moved back to the keyboard to finish his work.

The music still made him deliriously happy, but he also wondered why he had outgrown those other songs. Exactly when was one too old for children's songs?

One of those great mysteries of adulthood, he supposed.

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Another Blood from a Stone vignette. Artwork is copic marker on canvasboard.