Featured Review on this writing by Donald Harry Roberts

Cultural

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: November 05, 2018

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Submitted: November 05, 2018

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Cultural

There were so many musicians on the street, along with mime artists, even a few small theatre groups putting on impromptu performances. In some ways I felt it was a shame there were so many. Not only did it make it hard to pick, but also to focus. Whatever you were listening to, other sounds would interrupt and spoil the enjoyment.

That’s how I felt, but then there was so much chattering going on from the general public that concentration was hard to achieve any way.

That’s what I told myself when I headed out to the fringes of the town. Less crowded by the public, there were less performing artists too. He caught my eye, this guy in a black suit, flute held towards his lips. He looked all the world as though he belonged in some orchestra. Anyway, my decision was made. I would head towards him, just pausing for a minute or so to check out a miming duo, a guitarist.

He was watching me. And if it is possible to smile while playing the flute, that is just what he was doing. He knew that either he, or his music, had captivated me. If I’m honest I’d have to say it was a mixture of both.

He really did make a handsome sight, and the attraction was uncomfortably instant. But it was the music that drew me forward. Magical, mystical, notes that I’d swear I’d never once before heard in my life.

As I drew nearer, he took a step back. A forward step from me and another backward one from him. He was leading me, I knew. All my logical thoughts screamed out at me not to go, telling me how foolish I would be to fall for such a trick, but it was one of those times where emotions seemed to rule over sense.

Suddenly, behind me, there was childish laughter, a shriek that made me pause, turn. Just a group of kids harmlessly messing around. I wanted to shout at them to be quiet, to let me listen to the music, but when I turned back the man had gone. All that was left was the faint echo of his flute until even that was carried away on the breeze.

Where had he gone? There was nowhere for him to disappear to, not unless he’d sprinted the moment my back was turned. Was he just a part of my imagination? Or was he from another realm? I guess that’s a question I’ll never be sure of the answer to, but I have my suspicions that I just had a very narrow escape.


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