We are a growing community of blogging writers who come together each week from all parts of the globe to share individual flash fictions from a single photo prompt (above). The prompt goes up early Wednesday morning CST to give each writer time to compose a story by Friday. Some use the photo as a mere inspiration while others use it as an illustration. Use your imagination and think outside the box.
I am over on words, but I couldn’t cut back much more. In fact, this is just a clip from a story I am writing which came to mind when I saw the contrast in the two cellos side by side. Actually, the photo was perfect. The two cellos are protected by the wooden box. From all things on the outside. Here is what came to mind when I saw the image above. I call it “Beautiful Music”
After riding our bikes on the church grounds, I sat on the steps with best friend Monty. Two ten-year old kids in a rural southern town enjoying a summer day together.
A bike approached. The man on the bike said “We don’t like coloreds on our side town. Go home.”
Racism. I learned of it at the expense of my best friend, who was black. All I could say was “Sorry man.”
Monty smiled and said “You take cello lessons right?”
“Yes I do.”
“We are like two cellos except our exterior is different shades,” he replied. “We have the same number of strings. We’re shaped the same. When played we sound the same. Just beautiful music.”
I wish I could paint a picture. On canvas with colorful brush strokes. It would hang in a museum to share with the world, so bright and radiant. To interpret as you wish. For people to look at and wonder what was on my mind while I held that brush. For it to have meaning to each visitor. Whether it be happy or sad. My own Van Gogh, painted with pain and anguish for the world. For me.
I wish I could pick up a guitar then put a pencil to paper and write a song. A song to share with the whole world. A song to sing to people on the street as they toss their change into my guitar case or on a stage with the audience singing to me as if they wrote it. I hear their happiness or is it sadness, so loud and clear. A song that will last generations and is no longer mine but everyone’s. Forever.
I wish I could write a story. A story penned so eloquently with my pain and suffering. A story I can share with the world. So people could read and understand that they are not alone in their suffering. Written for me but knowing there are others that can’t pen their feeling as I can. With the hope that they may someday meet me and say thank you for writing what they feel. They have healed. My gift to them.
I can’t paint nor play a guitar. I can’t pen my thoughts eloquently.
This weekend we’re asking for 33 of your own words that exorcise a demon. One of your own, or one from your imagination. Let it bleed on the page.
This week’s challenge is community-judged.
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This work is fiction written for the challenge above. Exorcise a demon:
Drunk again. Yelling. Beating. Pain. I have seen it all. I’m too young to see this. It has to end now. I slowly aim
Then pull the trigger. Blood and silence. Its over.