“It was Colonel Mustard, in the kitchen, with the wrench!”
Sherlock Holmes* #quote
People are afraid of nightmares, but shouldn't they be afraid of daymares? Anyway onto the flash fiction!
The Violinist On The Hill
Everyday the violinist Edwin would play for his love on a hill while the Sun set. That's when he played his best and worked his hardest to make the most wonderful sounds whirl around in the air above the hill for her. Edwin felt happiest at this time. And they kept meeting at this hill, talking hours away as he spun melodies, even until the time they were married and afterward. They lived near the hill so it was easy to go there when the children settled down, and even easier when the children grew up and moved out.
Edwin never stopped going there and playing for his wife, even after she died, both of them agreed to be buried on their hill together. And every sunset until he died himself he would sit in front of his wife's tombstone and play for her, hoping his music was beautiful enough that the sounds could reach Heaven. He still felt his happiest when he played for her.