Posts Tagged ‘Music’
Jul
English Ivy
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Flamboyant scarlet blossoms arched twisting, winding heirloom English ivy. An
unexpected downpour ignored by the water-soaked guests. Whitewashed mason jars
splashed crimson pallets of rustic rural splendor. The music began, he stood nervously
waiting, looking down at his rented black shoes. She grasped her father’s arm. Fervent
desire charged fiery passion. Sugary words melted sultry shadows. Fireflies and fairy
dust lit moonless nights. Silence invited the darkness. Substance replaced by distance;
whiskey preferred to a kiss. Emotions frost bit in autumn’s showy splendor she’d climb
grasping, experiencing struggle with the fortitude of English ivy. She knew he watched
her sleep.
From Guest Contributor Christy Schuld
Apr
Drum
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
There is one bright dancer among them. Her hands trace the music onto air. The “U” of her hips sways, telling bedroom stories. Melodies float her toward the youngest doumbek player, barely bearded.
She bends to him, smiling, flirting even, to the ululating tongues of all her watching sisters but as the hafla pauses to draw a collective breath, I see the truth: her focus is not the boy drummer. She shines for the pulled-skin drum.
An elderly man leans near me. “It is all that remains of her husband.”
“He played?” I am confused.
He shrugs. “He had enemies.”
From Guest Contributor Laura Lovic-Lindsay
Mar
Anechoic, Deprived
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I once thought I heard my father listening to Santana on our back patio. He never listened to music. The only soundtrack to his workaday life was the eight cylinders rumbling at his foot’s command. A kick drum reverberating in his chest that echoed his life. A violent explosion shrouded by modernity, reduced to a drone. I eased through the sliding glass door and found him staring at the beyond the lower pasture in silence. “Be still,” he said. His words hung thick in the mid-summer air. I still don’t know if I wanted the music for him or myself.
From Guest Contributor J. Andrew Goss
Dec
Mall Christmas
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Christmas shoppers crush the mall their noisy chatter drowning out tinny holiday music. Fairy lights glimmer from boughs bedecked with fusty smelling red bows. At the epicenter of the mayhem is Santa Claus, surrounded by dingy fluffy snow. Corralling people into a staggering line, the elves keep order as Santa’s beard is yanked — it’s real! — and wishes whispered in his ear. A ruffled and flustered child heads for the over-sized presents next to Santa’s worn throne. Ripping shiny paper away, the child’s eyes fill with tears — it’s empty! A quick-thinking elf offers a fat orange. Tears gone. Christmas is saved!
From Guest Contributor D. K. White-Atkinson
Jul
Side Effects
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The instruction on the bottle was clear: Don’t fall asleep or you will die!
Lesley had no choice but to do everything possible to stay awake. She started with caffeine, loud music, and hourly callisthenics. Then she moved into harder drugs, inflicting pain on herself, and ice cold showers. By now, 48 hours had passed, and she began to wonder if she wouldn’t die anyway. You could only go so long without sleep.
Eventually she succumbed to the sweet embrace of slumber. When she awoke the next morning, her schizophrenia medication had finally taken effect and her delusions were forgotten.
Jul
Standing On The Edge Of The Between
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The portal calls to me in the songs of ancient gods, but my feet are mired in the ordinary, the necessary, the mundane. The music pulls me forward until I feel as if I shall break into two pieces—leaving only half of me to enter the world that is next.
The melody shifts in key, and I am beckoned not to walk, but to rise. I understand that I do not need these frozen feet. I spread my arms to the future, and I streak upward. My boots remain in the mud, but I am whole. I can fly.
From Guest Contributor Karen Burton.
Karen is an MFA student at Lindenwood University in St. Charles, MO.
Apr
Buzan
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Buzan was an idiot-savant. His memory was prodigious, but he could not make use of the information he could recall. His parents discovered that he was an extraordinary pianist. He would play a piece through, having only heard it once on the family phonograph. He often “composed” pieces on the spot, some derived from the tones generated by the appliances in his mother’s kitchen, or his father’s shop. Most of his day was spent in the corner of the front porch playing rock, paper, scissors, by himself. The hours would fly by, and Buzan would nap on the porch swing.
From Guest Contributor, Thomas Pitre
Dec
Silence
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The drive back to the mansion house was long. Selena found it unendurable, but not because of what was waiting for her.
It was the silence she couldn’t abide. She abhorred silence. She needed music or television playing in the background at all times or she’d fill the emptiness with whatever twitter occurred to her in the moment. Most people found the chatter annoying, but Richard had thought it endearing, which was odd, because for the most part he hated anyone who talked too much in his presence.
The fact Richard was dead made the silence especially interminable.
Part Seven
Sep
The Diapason
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Before the stroke, Malcolm was obsessed with football.
Afterwards, Malcolm found a part of his brain that had never been used before was now actively engaged. In grade school, he had failed to learn even a rudimentary song on the piano. Now music was everywhere.
When it came to natural phenomenon, the wind, breathing, the setting of the sun, he heard their rhythms as a harmonious symphony. Machines and furniture emitted a cacophony of unholy clamor that caused waves of nausea.
Malcolm held the keys to the universe inside his injured brain. His new obsession was the destruction of God.
Jan
The Samba
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Juan Felipe surveyed the room. He knew the moment the radio plug went silent that his cover was blown. All eyes turned. Even as he sashayed to the music, he scrutinized those eyes, looking for an escape.
He would have preferred the merengue. He’d have used his partner to shield him from gunfire. Instead, he waited for the music to reach a crescendo, and then as his knees dipped, dropped to all fours and slunk across the floor towards the exit.
Later, as he waited for the interrogation, he wished he’d taken lessons rather than learning to dance reading Wikipedia.
The Daily Theme from Figment for Jan. 13, 2012
(Because today’s theme hasn’t arrived yet.)
Dance break: Narrate a character’s thoughts while he or she is in the midst of some serious dancing. (The character can be the most reluctant hoofer ever or Balanchine himself, but in this moment, this guy is getting down.)