Suddenly reacquainted with classical music, I found myself searching on YouTube for a song I only remember by sound, not by title. Thankfully, I tracked it down, because I needed it for this story. And what is this story, you ask? Every Friday, writers from all around the world write 100 word (or thereabouts) flash fiction based on a photo posted that Wednesday on Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ blog. This one’s my contribution.
I welcome constructive criticism; without it I cannot grow as a writer. Thanks for reading!
“You ready?” I said to myself, looking around the small basement apartment. I took out my last twenty and laid it on the table. Then I set my key next to Mr. Jackson and picked up my backpack. It’s funny, the things you start wondering about when stuff really gets heavy. Why am I even bringing my backpack after all?
Footsteps in the room above. Something clanked, a chair scraped. And then – those first two notes. Elgar’s cello concerto. The one in E minor.
I sighed, hand on the doorknob, and turned back. “Not just yet,” I answered.