Music by the Lake

Intro:
It's kinda cheating in term of posts, this is a story I did for my script and storyboarding class not too long ago where the idea was to construct a story with these elements: one location, and two characters who are very different from one another. We basically wrote down the premise and characters and switch the ideas with a partner and construct a story out it. My partner gave me this for the premise.
Characters: Punk rocker man and a small baby doll like girl who likes to wear frilly things. They sitting on a bench by the lake. (Yikes for finding conflict)

Music By The Lake

Harley, like the bike. That’s his name. He sat on a bench with his guitar at his side and a writing pad sitting at the corner of his lap as if he was hiding it from view. Harley had a lot of ink, not just in his little writing pad. The man was built like a Porsche, lean but tough, the kind of guy who could get away with wearing skin tight jeans and a leather coat at his age.

His pen touches upon the pad as he busily scribbles something down, music notes and lyrics. A look of frustration, he quickly tears off the page and stuffs the wrinkled paper in his coat pockets, which falls out without him noticing. “Just one song, let me write just one song,” he says to himself.

A bright red ball bounces down the trail and rests at the bench corner, chased by a little girl, no more than ten. She wore glasses but otherwise looked like a spitting image of a porcelain doll except for the dress. She instead wore a frilly shirt and a pair of nondescript jeans that looked older than her age, probably hand me downs. She wanders over to the bench to pick up her ball and notices Harley. “I like the drawings on your skin” she remarks.

Harley looks at her. “They’re tattoos”. The conversation dies rather quickly as Harley goes back to his writing. Dolly can’t help but talk.

“Some kids think I’m a little weird because of my glasses. Do some people find you weird with those tattoos?” She waits, no reply from Harley. “I’m Dolly” she bursts.

“I thought little kids were warned not to talk to strangers?”

“How can you make friends if you can’t talk to strangers?”

“Go back to your playing kid.”

Harley sits and ponders, Dolly standing there as if waiting for him to say something. A long moment passes by before Harley submits. “Okay! I’m Harley.” He tries to shoo her off.

“You’re writing an awful lot Harley.”

“It never seems enough.”

Dolly picks up the wrinkled piece of paper that Harley trashed earlier and un-crumples it

“What’s this?" She takes a look at the song, music notes and lyrics and all,
“What’s the song about?”

“Nothing, it’s not my style. See this?” He shows her his tattoos, a beautiful collection of hellish images. “That’s me.” He snatches the paper from her hands and stuffs it back in his pockets, in its proper place.

“I wrote a story once for school,” begins Dolly. “I heard how much Mrs. Wilson loved Lizzy’s stories about unicorns and princesses and how she gave her stories an extra stamp in our journals. I tried making a story about something like that, but I got stuck. I asked my mom for help writing it because I didn’t know what to do… I didn’t get that extra stamp. Sometimes it’s better to do your own thing.”

Harley looks at Dolly with a newfound respect in those words.

“Thanks kid.”

Dolly smiles and picks up her red ball to leave, while Harley picks up his guitar and begins strumming a tune. Harley un-crumples the piece of paper and reads it over, a grin.

“Hey, Dolly!” he shouts, she looks back in surprise, “Wanna hear my song?”