The music began as a distant drum beat.
Soon there were other instruments. Horns and strings welled up into
an orchestral march. A harp fluttered above and faded taking the
others down with it till there was just the drum and a single oboe
drawing strength from sadness. Her smile appeared in the mist. A
piano offered a few tentative notes of encouragement. The oboe
continued unchanged and the piano was not heard from again. Her hand
reached out cold and damp but her touch electric. The sadness
sweetened. The glory of righteous pain. The music ceased. She was
home.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment
Talk to me dude