“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.
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