Flash Fiction: The Last Song

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.   

46 thoughts on “Flash Fiction: The Last Song

  1. granonine says:

    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

  2. pennygadd51 says:

    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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