The idea of Sunday Photo Fiction is to create a story / poem or something using around 200 words using the photo as a guide.
The pen lay where I’d left it, the little bastard. I’d been here before, too many times to count, which is why I knew all its little games. I surveyed the waves of crumpled papers sea-drifted around the bench. One of those days. If you know what I mean.
I didn’t have them often, days when the muse takes a holiday, but it does happen. I started to play scales, fingers loving black and whites, transforming to random pieces from other composers and well as my own.
My mother dreamed a world where I was a concert pianist, but her dream wasn’t mine. Oh, I love classical music and I’ve written my fair share, but it never held my heart. I played it when nothing else came, letting the swell and fall of the notes devour my soul.
About half-way to devoured, the phone rang. “You done?”
“If I was done, don’t you think I’d of said?”
“We start recording in a week.”
“Really?” I hung up, took several deep breaths and picked up the pen, notes flowing from my fingers as the music had moment before.
Welcome home, Muse. Welcome home.