When The Music Comes

Another Wednesday, another Friday Fictioneers. We might all be singing the same notes but the beauty is they’re definitely not in the same order….


Something was different; the light was just that little bit darker, the air just that little bit thicker. It was nearly time.

Dust and neglect settled on her chest and a fit of coughing brought her forward. Pulling the tissue back from her mouth, the fresh blood rippled wide across the fabric. Soon, she thought.

For months sheโ€™d waited. Waited and listened for the music.

She closed the door and moved away. Maybe it was just her memories floating down the stairwell, or perhaps the wind.

Asย the footsteps faded, spectral fingers once more teased across the ebony. Death has a melody all its own.

33 thoughts on “When The Music Comes

  1. Helen, this is fantastic! You’ve really captured the spirit sense of the storyโ€“ the waiting, the haunted feel of this scene. I wondered if HAD in the last sentence might not be more impactful as HAS. Either way, this story will stick with me today.

  2. Dear Helen,

    This puts me in mind of a friend who passed away a few years ago. One of the last things he said was that he was exchanging the old music for new. Lovely writing.



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