For @mariannewest/day-893-5-minute-freewrite-tuesday-prompt-flute
Flute.
Silver flute with pearly buttons.
Pressed to his chin. His clean-shaven chin. His lips tremble for just a moment.
He purses them. He blows.
And they stop watching his lips. Their minds drift with the sounds. Above the orchestra. Above the stage. Above their own heads. Ceilings give way to clouds in a puffy night sky. Bright horizons from all that light pollution. Doesn’t matter. It’s beautiful anyway.
Follow the curve of the sound. Down.
Into an ocean. The light stream of sound flows through the deep sea. Middle C.
High C.
Tumbling waves crash against the stream. It holds fast. No waver, just a stream of melody cutting through the bombast of percussion of strings.
Then. The water drains away. The stream flows. A trickle of ocean water drip drips from the theatre. Dry except for that stream.
And all at once.
It stops.
Goodbye sound.
Hello roar of applause.
Take one instant in this applause. Hold it. Pause. Not pause. Live a lifetime in it. Ebbs and flows. Not static. A constant thunderous crashing together of hands. A downpour of adulation. Of love. Of memories held in the instant. Not paused in time, held. Flowing back and forth between hands, like grains of sand kept.
Listen for a crescendo. Bow.
Exit.
It’s gone on too long. Accept the necessity of a second bow, but make them stop, it’s all too much.
Wave them off. Blow them kisses. Bow twice, hoping.
At last. The smattering begins.
The night ends.
Flautist.
And here’s the few words of one I started a month ago and never finished. Don’t remember why.
For https://steemit.com/hive-161155/@mariannewest/day-865-5-minute-freewrite-tuesday-prompt-cold-front
There’s a cold front moving in. It makes us feel… bitterly awesome. Isn’t it neat that the people who see us every day are also the people