I was challenged by some adults in my writers group to write a story without pronouns. So here it is. (REALLY hard by the way.) Please tell me if I do have some pronouns in here...I probably managed to put a few in there. ---------- Angel The boy fumbled at the window’s lock, brushing stray hair from dark gray eyes when failure became evident. Rain pounded the ground and screen on the other side of the glass. The boy’s hand pressed against the window, making fingerprints. For the past half-hour, music had flitted around the drops and through the glass. Though the boy was sure the music had never been heard before, the melody had a familiar air. As if the tune was a part of the boy’s soul. Knowing vaguely where the sound came from, the boy ran out the door, down the hallway to the front door. Hesitating only for a moment, the boy walked out in bare feet. Just as suspected, a person was sitting on a bench in front of an old grand piano in the park across the street. The piano had been brought there by an older kid that lived in the neighborhood during a rowdy party, and chaos had ensued until the police had kicked the party-goers out. Not a person had taken the piano, now covered in neon paint and curse words so there the piano remained. Now the boy, after making sure no cars were on the way, crossed the street. As the boy drew closer, the shape of a little girl in a white dress was made out. The boy quietly stood behind the girl, watching fingers press down on keys and make the beauty that sent chills up and down the spine. Nothing but noise had been drawn from the instrument, but the girl coaxed music from the piano. True music. The song ended, seemingly, for the girl stopped playing the normally out-of-tune piano, turning to smile at the boy. “Name?” a voice sweet and pure, as if plucked from heaven came from the girl’s mouth. Surprised, the boy could barely get out an answer, “Ryan.” There was a silence as the boy waited for the girl to relinquish her name. Here, the boy noticed the rain had suddenly stopped as if turned off by a lever. Soon, boyish impatience filled Ryan, “Name?” “The girl shook her head, “No name,” Ryan was shocked. The girl didn’t have a name? The girl interrupted the boy’s thoughts, “Will Ryan give name?” The moonlight had come then, making the girl’s light locks seem as white as the dress that the little girl wore. “Angel,” Ryan said with meaning. Angel smiled, lighting up the world in Ryan’s innocent eyes. Heat rose to Ryan’s face and the boy hastily cleared a suddenly scratchy throat, “Pretty song,” he commented. “Does Ryan want to hear more?” Angel asked sweetly with wide eyes. Ryan nodded and the girl continued to play. The time Angel played seemed to pass in a second, yet take eternity. The songs played could have pieced together wings shattered countless times or a heart as empty as an abyss. When the music finally faded away, so did Angel. Ryan believed with a full heart the girl was an angel, but was never sure if the girl was an angel, phantom, or hallucination. From that day forth, however, a good song to Ryan was a song that reminded the boy, then teenager, then man of the songs Angel played one rainy night when Ryan was a boy.