Sunday Photo Fiction 9-17-2017

© John Robinson

UCLA’s campus lay deserted, shaded dorm windows honeycombing out like cells in a beehive. A quiet break from the push and pull of students searching out tiny grains of knowledge, buzzing here and there, carrying each nugget carefully back to their cell at night.

His sneakers made little noise on the pavement, hands stuffed in jean’s pockets. He’d be gone soon, a semester at Julliard, a dream since forever. The band thought they’d lost him, or would lose him, once he arrived to the esteemed halls.

Who cared if the band he’d inherited here was called The Pink Marshmallow? Names changed all the time (and this one would). What if they only played tiny clubs and dark basements? Venues changed.

They would be famous one day. He wouldn’t allow otherwise.

The band met him at the curb.

“We wanted to wish you a good trip,” Jay said.

Chris hugged each one. “See you after Christmas.”

He’d given up convincing weeks ago. It was enough he knew he’d be back.

A taxi pulled to the curb. Giving them a thumbs up, he slid inside. Julliard might be a dream, but those four, they were his future.

Leaning back in the seat, he began to hum.

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers 3-12-2017

photo-20170206154748327

photo-20170306154630013This week’s photo prompt is provided by Mike Vore. 

Guide for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

1. A prompt photo will be provided each Tuesday to be used as a base to your story. Please include photo prompt with your story.

2. Linking for this challenge begins on Tuesday and runs to the following Monday evening.

3. The story word limit is 100 – 150 words (+ – 25 words). Please try to stay within this limit.

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

 

Chris whipped the cover off the piano and sat down, fingers running lightly over the keys as he waited for the rest of the band to settle. He’d been awake the last 72 hours in a frenzy of writing; never a good sign in the studio.

“So,” Dante asked, having drawn the short straw, “what’s on the agenda today.”

“Same as yesterday,” fingers stroking ivory. “We have to get it right.”

“We got it right yesterday,” Jay put in.

Chris stopped playing. “Once. Out of how many times?”

The rest of the band simultaneously cleared throats, sighed.

“Once,” Jay admitted, “if I remember correctly, out of …hum-ah… many times.”

“All right then.” Chris started to play again.
.
“I thought once we got famous, we were supposed to enjoy, not slave away.”

When Chris looked up, no one claimed that statement.

“We are not famous enough.”

The rest of the band shared a look.

“Ah, silly me,” Dante muttered.

Another long day in paradise.