Secret Field

Chapter 2

Six months later…

I was asleep on my couch. I usually slept there. I had a big problem with sleeping in my bed, it wasn't as comfy. I really dislike being woken up, especially when I'm being woken up by someone else. There was a knock at my door. Deep in my sleep I had heard it, but figured since I was sleeping, it wasn't anything important. Then the knock came again. This started to wake me. With a grunt, I shifted my sleeping position. Again, the knock vibrated through my house. My eyes finally opened and I looked over at the clock.

"Who the hell wants to see me at one o'clock in the afternoon?" I asked myself.

Five series of knocks could've gone by in the time I finally got to the door.

"Rez! Get ready to kill this bastard for waking me up this early when I open the door." A black lab wandered in to the room at the sound of its name. Its eyes looked up at me with confusion, then to the door where the silhouette of a person could be seen in the window.

I rubbed my face and finally opened up the door. A medium sized man stood there looking at me. I looked him up and down. He was wearing a black and yellow stripped sweater, and he held a walking cane in his left hand. His hair was short, and he looked friendly. However, friendly wasn't what I was at the time.

"Yeah?" I groggily asked.

"Hello, Mr. Aquosus," his accent was obviously English. "I have come here to deal a bargain with you."

"Do I know you?"

"Of course you do, my good man. I'm the great musician, Sting. Everyone knows me. I'm a rock superstar."

"…Oh…OK…A bargain?" I looked over at Rez. Anyone coming to my door claiming to be Sting, was a complete nut case. "Rez! Attack!"

She looked up at me, then to the door, then at me, back and forth a half a dozen times before finally walking away.

"Now Mr. Aquosus, we don't need any outsiders. This is just between you and me."

"Damn dog," I said under my breath. Then to the man, "…Right…So…Sting? Why the hell are you standing in my doorway?"

"Ah, yes. It's concerning your plagiary of my song."

"Are you saying I stole your song?"

He looked at me with confusion for a moment, "…yes."

"Oh." I thought a minute about what he was saying. "Well, 'Sting' if that is your real name. I don't even write songs. I just play them to make some side cash at malls."

"Well I couldn't be mistaken, this surely is my song," he handed me a few pieces of paper.

"Well that's nice and all," making a show of looking at the papers, "… but please. I'm not a record company. Go pan your wears else where. Goodbye…Sting." With that I closed the door and hid behind the wall so he couldn't see me through the window.

"Bother." and "Oh well." was what I heard from the other side of the door. There was a heavy thump on the porch, before he walked away. I listened for the sound of him entering his car, the sound of it starting, and gravel sliding around as it drove off.

I opened the door to see what the thump was. I saw nothing but the pieces of paper that he tried handing to me earlier underneath a rock. I checked around to make sure my asylum escapee wasn't hiding anywhere, then picked up the abandoned paper.

I started examining it as I walked back into my house. The front page was blank, save a few words that said, "Fields of Gold By Sting"

"Yeah I heard the song before, Mr. Sting," I mumbled before tossing the papers into the trash.