Flash Fiction: The Last Song

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PHOTO PROMPT © Anshu Bhojnagarwala for Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

I use to be grand once. Shiny and reflective. Played for people on stage. A real pride and joy. Professionals commented on my notes, a breeze to hummer out the classics. Hours musicians would sit next to me on my companion friend, Stool. He’s long gone. Years flew by and we were passed on to a family. Reduced to the Chopsticks. Glory over and hello dust. The kids grew up, with no purpose or value, the woman of the house decided to “up-cycle” me. Here I am rotting outside the family business, a talking piece. Just kill me already, my tune dead.   


  1. Alas, so is the fate of too many musical instruments, purchased with such hopes and dreams, but over the years forgotten and allowed to decay. Maybe there’s a heaven for old, neglected instruments. I hope so 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Even heaven needs musical instruments for the passed 😀.
      It’s a shame society isn’t good distributing used equipment to is still in working order. I’m sure poor people around the globe would appreciate items.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Your last line is poignant; the piano’s tune is dead.
    I have a grand piano which is nearly ninety years old, and which was once played by all sorts of virtuosi. It’s only a family piano now, but at least it’s tuned and has people who love it playing it.

    Liked by 1 person

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