But, it always works:
She picked up the violin and followed the stretch of tight guts over the bridge. There had to be someplace to sound with a look somewhere between drive, angst, and a dare. Back to the minor key, reluctantly, but that’s where it was going. Bow low for four then a little higher, vibrato’d. That one second note made her eyes close till the next higher. A slight twist to the off that’s so complete it wants to hold on, but drops back down to exhale.

Her hand relaxed around its neck as it was cradled back to the table, with a reason, feeling that hit like air. Disappointed and confused, she glared down at it. She said it as best she could. It always worked. Speak, it listened. But, this play was different.  The sound wasn’t out.  Everything she echoed out loud bounced back into her, with a resounding more. Deeper than before, forced to hear nowhere near.

“Maybe if I kept my eyes open, my fingers wouldn’t have struck a chord.”


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