wainscottbl
September 7th, 2016, 03:51 AM
Just a little something I wrote for the hell of it. More to practice than anything.
When he was a kid, they called him a fiddler, but then he grew up, got educated, went to Julliard, and got all refined, so they call him a violinist now. He became concertmaster for Academy of St. Martin in the Fields, and then he retired. He lives not far south of London, in the countryside. He lives in a quaint little home, a cottage you might call it, down a dirt road. He lives alone, his wife having died, with his cat, Mozart. He’s a uniquely, tall, thin old man with a long face that looks like the skin might fall off, as if he is too thin for his skin. He’s pale and sickly looking, like a ghost or something, and under the pale moon, he plays the violin score for Mozart’s “Haffner” symphony, joining the orchestra that’s playing on an old record player. And when the moon is full, he plays Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata,” or some merry folk tune during the day. His cat always jumps up on the bench when he plays the piano, sitting there and purring loudly, meowing as soon as he stops, as if to say, “Go on” or “play again”. That’s his life now, old and alone, with nothing but music and a cat to keep him company.
When he was a kid, they called him a fiddler, but then he grew up, got educated, went to Julliard, and got all refined, so they call him a violinist now. He became concertmaster for Academy of St. Martin in the Fields, and then he retired. He lives not far south of London, in the countryside. He lives in a quaint little home, a cottage you might call it, down a dirt road. He lives alone, his wife having died, with his cat, Mozart. He’s a uniquely, tall, thin old man with a long face that looks like the skin might fall off, as if he is too thin for his skin. He’s pale and sickly looking, like a ghost or something, and under the pale moon, he plays the violin score for Mozart’s “Haffner” symphony, joining the orchestra that’s playing on an old record player. And when the moon is full, he plays Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata,” or some merry folk tune during the day. His cat always jumps up on the bench when he plays the piano, sitting there and purring loudly, meowing as soon as he stops, as if to say, “Go on” or “play again”. That’s his life now, old and alone, with nothing but music and a cat to keep him company.