Wednesday again and time for the creative exploits of the Friday Fictioneers. Nearly a 100 people every week tackle the 100 word photo prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Get yourself over and have a go.
He knew not the time or the days that had passed. For the day and the night were no longer defined. He searched for the source till his ears bled with fire, a molten elixir that burned beneath skin. Still the music played on.
Whispering chords that wove between thought. He was no longer able to separate reality from memory or quaver from cleft. He looked at the chaos that was strewn all around, the radio, the stereo, the piano all smashed. He lifted the hammer and beat at the keyboard. Still the tempo increased and the music played on.