There was once a boy who played the violin on top of a green hill in the middle of the woods. The woods around the hill were dark and only the most fearless animals dared to live there. Birds never sang there. Butterflies had long abandoned this place, as flowers were an accidental rarity in these woods. Only the boy who played the violin brought light to this forgotten lost land. Sometimes he played at night and then the moon shone brighter from his tender melodies. Other times he played at daylight and then the sun would come out from hiding behind the furious clouds. Even the animals felt kindness in their hearts when he played.
There was no other life the boy had ever known except for this grey existence that surrounded him and that he tried to colour with his music. The woods seemed endless even from the top of the hill where the boy played. He could not see anything but trees and bushes. Every new moon when the boy played, he thought of coming down the hill, finding a way out of the woods, but there was no proof of there being a way out, and so with every ray of light in the mornings he would forget his questions and deem them foolish.
The boy never knew how was it that he became the one who plays the violin on top of the green hill. He never knew how old he really was. He'd never seen other people, nor imagined that they might exist. Nobody ever told him that people aren't immortal, and so he never understood that when the world around him, the woods, the sun, the moon started fading, he never understood that it was because he was dying.
And so it was as it was. The boy who played the violin finally left the green hill forever. He lay dead on top of the hill with his only companion in his cold lifeless hands - the violin.
I like the fact that it is so short, and how it all seemed detached from any real emotions. I understand why aqua1213 would want more melancholy wording, but I think that part is fine considering he's been alone all his life so he wouldn't really know what sadness and lonliness is. The only thing I would say that worth revising would be that you wrote about his younger years for most of the story, yet you had only a small part for his younger years. Wouldn't he express more confusion as wrinkles appeared on his skin, and he must've grown tired of playing the violin after a certain amount of years. So, I would suggest adding more about his older self. But I think it's a really good story, and I love that he plays violin (an instrument I play.)
Awesome. Just...awesome.
I can't really make this into a critique, because
1. Your story's short and there aren't much typical "story elements" to work with.
2. As this is a short story, the format fits perfectly, and I really can't find anything wrong with this.
Really, I love the feel of it. The mood, the atmosphere, the loneliness. Although, since you were going for that whole "sad" feel, it would have done you good to make it sound even more sad...Use more sad words that gives it a melancholy atmosphere.
Other than that, you're good to go! I really enjoyed reading this! Please continue writing!