I wanted to join in with the other Friday Fictioneer participants this week, but I have to admit that my contribution is ‘illegal’ — being closer to 180 words. However, since this is the little story that kept nagging at me from the very first moment I saw the picture below, I have written it anyway and edited it down as far as possible in the time I had available.
The challenge is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to take part, hop over to see her at this link:
The prompt is the following picture, which comes to us courtesy of Roger Cohen at http://betarules.blogspot.com.au/
They’d met at a rehearsal in this very theater. He, with his polished coat of dark walnut, was instantly captivated by her honey-maple coloring – but even more so by the sweet voice she gave to every note assigned her in the performances. Bravely, he’d professed his love, and she’d responded. They had made exquisite music together for 74 years.
Now, with their respective masters in their graves, the two aging instruments rested against the wall of an old closet behind the stage. His coat was battered and marred significantly. But her luster still had the power to draw music from him every time he looked at her. They sighed quietly. They still had each other – and the music that lived within them. He kissed her gently. She kissed him back. They embraced.
Outside, people slowed their stride as they passed the old theater. “There it is again,” said one. Others nodded in agreement.
“Strange,” said a young woman. “Every night, I’m just sure I hear music coming from inside, but there is never anyone there ….”