You could only hear it when the wind blows, which was often. Eerie chords of music, like a lullaby, caught on the wind and carried along the breeze sent chills coursing up and down your spine, its icy fingers left pimples on your flesh, and its somber tones shot straight to your heart.
If you stopped and listened long enough, and it was the right time of day, you might catch a glimpse of the player. Ageless in her red kimono, her chrome streaked onyx hair pulled up in the traditional Japanese bun, she gripped a mandolin tightly between her hands. Her fingers tickled the strings with a grace only born from patience. Its andante flow pulled you in, drew you closer. Suddenly becoming an allegro, it stole your breath even as it made your body move. Helplessly trapped in its cadence, your body weaved and flowed until you danced to the spot.
There, on that cobblestone heart, she stood, strumming that mandolin until her fingers bled. One by one, they joined her on that square. There, in that square, you stopped, surrounded by the shimmering specters of past street players the mandolin has sung to life. Your eyes closed and they disappeared, sparkles of light mimicked by the sun, the mandolin player the last to go.
Yet, the music never ceased.
This week’s Write at the Merge, hosted by Write on Edge, gives us 500 words and a choice of 2 prompts. I chose the second picture shown in the story above. The first picture is from my own Be Inspired post ( image found on Facebook). I’ve been looking at this lady for a long time with a story working in my head. I’m glad to finally give her COMPLETION (yes, there’s one of my Just Be Enough words for you).
I always want and welcome honest feedback. Please share your thoughts in a comment.
Thanks for stopping in!