This post was created in response to Rochelle’s post: Friday Fictioneers.
Read some great flash fiction tied to the prompt below by travelling here:
Here is our weekly photo prompt
Copyright- Bjorn Rudberg
Opa waved me over from his seat at the edge of the dining room.
I rolled my eyes as I swallowed the last of my cognac to steel myself for the ordeal.
He handed me the guitar as I sat down beside him. He took up his mandolin.
“Play.” He croaked.
I began in E. I think he thought it was G. Our mismatched keys were echoed by cheers of patrons, throughout the bar, who had known his musicianship.
He was gone the next morning and for months after I couldn’t bear the sound of beautiful music.