Picture courtesy of John Nixon
I am most curious about the windup shadow on the right hand side, but couldn’t make it fit into my story. Mine seems a little bleak this week, but decided to go with that rather than the more obvious funny slant. Go figure.
Word Count: 100
Shadows fell across the stage; it was the golden hour film crews live for. Watching the light fade, John knew his life had taken a turn for the absurd.
As a child, he dreamed of fame as a classical pianist. His music would make people weep, his performances sublime. Instead, he was a joke – a player in a group of kid’s performers; his dream dying a little more with each song.
Upside down now within the piano, tears ran to his hairline, his knees pounding out the old Ragtime Blues. Dreams, like the golden hour, slip away all too soon.
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© Erin Leary