[ WP ] Write about the story of a man who has the power to keep people alive with his music , but as soon as he stops playing the people he is keeping alive die .

`` Good morning Mr. Pokelton.'' A nurse walked by in a hurry as Mr. Pokelton rummaged through the busy hallway. A large oblong case swung back and forth at his side while he pranced to room two-four-eight. Stopping momentarily to get his barrings in this foreign space he spun around to find the newest pretty face. 
 
 `` Miss, miss could you tell me where this room, two-four-eight, is?'' Inquired the dabber man still shimmying his oblong case back and forth to a hidden beat. 
 
 `` Just down this hall to the left, there are the elevators, second floor, take a right coming out, and then one more right at the first hallway, it'll be on the left.'' The nurse took off towards a nearby room after dealing with the man with an uncanny plan in a hallway foreign to his unique jam. Mr. Pokelton shrugged off the busy-body ways of the nurses of hospital Happier Days and moved down the hall to the left. Sure enough there stood an elevator that would take Mr. Pokelton to the second floor where he'd find his room, two-four-eight. He pressed up and waited, swaying in the way of many a passerby until the doors opened and a fine lady caught his eye. Not a nurse but some young daughter or mother visiting a sickly patient no doubt but she stared back at our Mr. Pokelton curious about his oblong case. He just smiled back and tipped his hat walking into the elevator to see his own family or friend in the room just above called two-four-eight. 
 
 `` What's your --'' The doors closed on the young lady as Mr. Pokelton frowned at her delayed reaction to their obvious attraction, she only left one word in the elevator to be heard. `` -- name.'' Mr. Pokelton bounced on one knee and shook off his encounter determined to regain the composure before he found her. A dull music crossed against his beat, but it not lost he bounced on his two feet and waited. The doors slowly opened and he rushed through to the second floor his journey almost complete. 
 
 A young man called `` Mr. Pokelton!'' from down the hall but he took a swift right and before he knew it Mr. Pokelton was out of sight so he frowned looking down at his soles. The young man was Jeremy a saint of the hospital of Happier Days, who brought joy to all the patients he visited. He'd known Mr. Pokelton for a few years now and always enjoyed listening to his sweet old scowl, and stayed ever curious about his seemingly magical ways. Mr. Pokelton on the other hand did n't hear poor Jeremy, in fact on the contrary he was quite determined about arriving at this room two-four-eight. He stepped to it through the hall counting down and standing tall wondering where exactly this room was suppose to be. 
 
 Two-three-two, two-three-six, two-three-nine. Now that's just a crime. two-four-four, two-four-six, two-four-eight! He let out a long drawn sigh finally happy to have arrived opening the door to peak inside for his beat was on the rise. And there lied a man, sickly and ill. Lying alone in a bed ever so still. Mr. Pokelton strolled up to the bed of the man. He set down his oblong shaped case and popped open the latch on either side. Up went the ceiling to reveal a delightful violin, gleaming of the finest wood you'd ever seen. Now truth be told it was a cheap old violin, but Mr. Pokelton would be quite cross if you said. No, he picked it up right out of it's case, with some sheet music at no great haste, looking down at the sickly man's eyes full of dread. 
 
 There was a soft change in the wind as Mr. Pokelton began to play. A kind of essence filled the room with warmth and light as the world blurred into his silky smooth melody. The old man perked up, his face filled with color as he looked at Mr. Pokelton, his violin in hand, his eyes closed, lips shivering. 
 
 `` Who are you?'' Asked the man. 
 
 `` Mr. Pokelton of course, I'm hear to play a tune for you because truth be told you're going to die soon.'' 
 
 `` Die?'' The old man said with a fright, concerned now by the stranger at his bed playing a song and filling his head. `` What kind of person barges into a room and just says a man is going to die! I'll have you know I'm on chemo and the cancer has n't effected me in days.'' 
 
 `` Dyin' ai n't so bad it's like a dream opening up at the seam, you drift off into a darkness sure but sometimes my friend there is n't any cure.'' Mr. Pokelton's violin seduced the old man and he felt calmer as each note passed by. He wondered why he had to die, could n't he live just for tomorrow? What if something happens, something crazy, even if he was a little hazy. Is it so wrong to dream of living forever, seeing the stars for once with loved ones together? `` Now, now.'' Mr. Pokelton interjected into the thoughts the old man had selected. `` Tomorrow is a happier day I wont lie to you, and you know it to be true. However, you must see that we all drink one last cup of tea. I'm here for one simple reason, you're not ready to pass away this season. I felt it in my heart and so I came to reconcile your fear with my art.'' The old man frowned at the preposterous situation but the song held him close to the words of Mr. Pokelton's preoccupation. Death was a horrid subject they both knew, but everyone must discuss it soon. 
 
 `` I lived such a long live, so many children died before me. If I could give some years to them I guess I would. To let them see just one more day, that's honorable right? To explore just one more place, that's generous? But you know Mr. Pokelton I fear and fear the darkness, it comes for us all and I just wish something would illuminate the way.'' The old man stood still in his bed as he looked at Mr. Pokelton. Mr. Pokelton smiled back, knowing the troubles of the old man in his final hour, but certain he'd help him stop the final cower. 
 
 `` Fear is fear and you should feel it too. There is no rhyme or reason to stop you. At the end of the day though I'm sorry to say that the darkness envelopes every ray. It's a dark fact indeed but just remember what happens to that lonely seed. It's not much consideration for those taken too soon or with ample trepidation but for this old oak I think it'll do.'' The old man smiled at Mr. Pokelton. He sighed a final sigh, and sang a final hymen. Happy to be leaving with such a friend.
