Prompt: Vocal coach with amnesia, female serial killer escapes prison

Karen sat with her fingers resting on the keyboard. Snatches of songs ran through her head, came out her fingertips, but she couldn’t remember the words. A tear traced a hot line down her cheek. She jumped at the knock on her door. Without glancing at her clock, she called, “Come in, dear.” Must be time for her next lesson…

Sharon slipped into the apartment, frowning as the woman called out. If she was expecting company, things could get complicated quickly. Scanning the room, she took in the country décor in the small kitchen, the table set for one, the lounge chair and sofa with needlepoint pillows, and the lady at the piano, only now looking around with a tremulous smile.

Karen couldn’t put a name to the sharp face in her doorway, but that wasn’t unusual these days. Her students never seemed to notice that she didn’t call them by name until she had their workbooks in hand – mercifully labeled in her own neat handwriting. She glanced around her guest, but saw no bag or notebooks. Well, that made it a little more challenging. Not only did she not have a name, she didn’t know this student’s level. Standing, she motioned to the woman as she moved to the chair next to the piano bench. “Come on in, dear,” she echoed. “Are you ready to play today?”

Sharon raised her eyebrows, then shrugged and moved across the room. Did the woman mistake her for someone else? Well, she needed a place to hide out for awhile, and she had always wanted to learn to play piano. Mom Bertha used to play the rickety old piano in the cafeteria, and sometimes Sharon would sit with her when the teasing was particularly fierce. No one messed with Mom Bee.

Sitting at the piano, Sharon remembered her first lesson, a fingering piece, Mom Bee called it. She started with her left hand at the far end of the piano and found the “C” key with her left thumb. She stumbled a bit over the first few keys, but then she remembered the tune and relaxed, letting her fingers run more smoothly through the pattern. When she reached the right end, she replaced her left hand with her right, and ran back across the keyboard, playing the pattern in reverse. Nearing the end, she glanced up and saw the teacher’s wide smile. She couldn’t help smiling back.

As she played the final chord, the woman clapped her hands with a laugh. “What a marvelous Hanon, my dear!” She stopped short, and stared down at the keyboard. “Yes, Hanon. That’s it. I remember…”

Note:

I struggled with this one. I had a half-baked idea spring to mind when I read the prompt, but I feel like my wheels spun in place. So I give you a prelude, or a scene setting. Didn’t do more than hint at Sharon’s role. Where could I go with this? Maybe nowhere, and that’s okay, sometimes. It’s an exercise, and they can’t all be winners…

Dogs in house:	Brindle
Music	The Avengers
Time writing	~40 minutes
June word count	4,913

Prompt: A crow girl can’t fly with a broken wing

Raysha screamed out the final note as long as her voice held, fists raised high as the roar of the crowd washed over her. The sound swept through her body, and for a moment she could close her eyes and imagine it lifting her up into the air. A moment.

She dropped her arms, dropped the mike to the floor and walked off stage without a backward glance. The crowd’s applause and wild cheering meant nothing to her after that brief moment passed. Her spiked heels beat a rapidfire tattoo on the slick concrete floor as she raced for the privacy of her dressing room. Slamming the door and throwing herself on the worn couch, she threw her arms over her face, hiding her hot tears from the world.

The rush of wings heralded company. Raysha gulped and scrubbed at her eyes. Sitting up, she turned away from the two black crows sitting in the open window. They hopped into the room and jumped in the air, dissolving into smoke.

“Crow girls don’t cry,” Deerka sniffed, examining her black-painted nails and rocking backward on her silver-studded biker boots. Kaldie cackled until Deerka flicked her fingers at her in annoyance. Raysha wondered how they had ever been her best friends. She wondered how much longer they would stick around, and how she would survive without them. Her face must have given some of her thoughts away. Deerka’s face softened momentarily. “You’re still one of us, girl. Broken wings can heal.”

“Yeah,” Kaldie chimed in with a sharp grin.  

Raysha jumped up, tugging at her sleeve. She thrust her wrist toward them, the tattoo of a broken feather clearly visible. “How long?” she wailed. “Deerka, I can’t stand it any more! I want to fly!”

She dropped back onto the couch, sobbing.

Kaldie echoed Deerka’s earlier refrain, with a kinder tone. “Crow girls don’t cry…”

But Deerka hopped over to the couch and dropped next to Raysha, pulling her head onto her shoulder. She grabbed Raysha’s wrist and rubbed the tattoo. “Hang in there, girl. It will heal,” she encouraged Raysha with momentary kindness.

Raysha sniffed and gulped for air, swallowing the sobs. She relaxed against Deerka for a moment, then pulled away before either of them could tease her for such human weakness. She rubbed her nose with her sleeve as she jumped up, shaking her head into a disheveled halo.

“Wanna come out with me for the final song?” She asked with a mischievous grin. The two girls jumped up, clapping as they hopped behind her to the door.

In the concrete hall, the three girls linked arms and skipped toward the stage. Lights blinded them as they hopped up the steps, and they were hit with a wall of sound from the crowd.

Note:

I was listening to Mary Ann Harris' "Crow Girls" and had the sudden thought, "Oh my goodness Kei$ha is a crow girl!" Tell me it's not true...

Dogs in House	Houdini, Brindle
Music	Daughter’s piano lesson
Time writing	~45 minutes
February word count	1,787

Prompt: Everyone has their own soundtrack

The closing notes of Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto #5 sounded as I finished my report and submitted it for review. I leaned back in my chair with relief and smiled as the first playful notes of Pharrell Williams’ “Happy” started again. It had been on repeat in my personal playlist for weeks. A glance at the clock confirmed my workday was over, but the music was never wrong. I tapped my toes as I clicked through the grocery website, selecting items to pick up on the way home.

My happy soundtrack continued through the evening commute, even when some jerk cut much too close in front of me. I was grooving to some old INXS tunes and decided it wasn’t worth getting mad. As I pulled in the driveway, the Wicked soundtrack started, and I knew Christina must be home from volleyball.

“Come help with the groceries,” I called from the garage. She answered on the intercom, “Be right there,” in a singsong voice that told me practice had gone well. As she opened the door, our soundtracks united on “Popular”, and we sang it together as we put away groceries and started preparing dinner. We were having fun using spatulas as microphones for the finale when the sound dialed down to barely audible. David didn’t care for musicals. As he walked in the door, the syncopated rhythms of Dave Brubeck’s “Take Five” made Christina roll her eyes.

After dinner, we all separated for our own work and study. I heard jazz follow David, and some pop tune upstairs where Christina disappeared into her room. I stood in my study and heard…nothing. No music. I waited. Now that I was thinking about it, surely it would start up. Sometimes the system had a delay in selecting the right playlist, but I frowned, trying to remember the last time I had heard…silence. The room felt larger than usual. I loved my cozy study, but with no music, it seemed uncomfortable somehow. There must be a glitch in the system.

I’ll go get some water, I thought. Surely a walk out to the kitchen and back would reset things and start up a fresh playlist. Though at this rate, it had better be something soothing. I tried to think of what I wanted to hear. Guitar? Classical? Pop? I couldn’t call a single piece of music to mind. I faltered in the hallway. My chest felt tight, and I couldn’t draw in a full breath. I was starting to panic.

Where was my music? I was scared, feeling myself falling backward, but I couldn’t cry out, couldn’t reach out my arms to stop my fall. I hit the side table and knocked the vase of fresh flowers Christina had just arranged onto the floor. I felt the water and stems sprawling across my arm. I felt the back of my head strike the cold tile floor, bounce up, and land again. I tried to call out to David or Christina. Their soundtracks were too loud for them to hear me, even if I could have made a sound.

My eyes closed, and I fought to keep them open. I felt cold seeping over my body, covering me like a blanket, and I was terrified of what would happen when it covered me completely. All I could think was, Where is my music?

Dogs in house	Houdini
Music	Frozen soundtrack
Time writing	15 minutes
February word count	4,793

Prompt: I didn’t know you played! Part 2

…Continued from yesterday

The beat grew louder. Footsteps marching. No one in the courtyard moved as two rows of soldiers marched in, their ears covered in heavy cuffs.

The leader stopped in front of Sarenca, who continued to play without hesitation or interruption. He watched without expression for a long moment. He put his hands over his ear cuffs, but did not pull them away to allow the sound into his hearing.

And still Sarenca played. The leader lifted his heavy black boot and brought it down on the yeberen’s side. It shattered under the force of his blow, wooden shards exploding around them.

And still Sarenca played. The music sounded sweet and pure as ever, even with the jagged edges of the instrument pricking her fingers, leaving drops of blood on the softly glowing wood. None of the crowd moved.

The soldier stomped the yeberen again, closer to Sarenca’s hands. She did not flinch, did not hesitate. The soldier stared in disbelief. He drew back and stomped the wood again. Impossibly, unbelievably, Sarenca still played.

Looking back to his troops for support, the soldier hesitated, then turned back and stomped directly on Sarenca’s hands, breaking bones under his heels and crushing the rest of the yeberen into splinters.

Sarenca’s broken fingers scrabbled on the ground, and every touch of a splinter yielded the same impossibly beautiful sounds. The soldier knelt before her and leaned down, sweeping the shards of the yeberen away.

Sarenca froze, then bowed low before the soldier who had appeared as immediately as the yeberen had done hours before. Tears filled her eyes and flowed freely down her face, but not for the pain in her hands. She didn’t yet feel them.

Every person in the crowd also cried, mourning the loss of the yeberen’s sweet sound.

The soldier rested his hand on Sarena’s shoulder for a moment. He might have arrested her. He might have pitied her. He might have envied her. None would know. He rose and led the soldiers from the courtyard, their staccato beat all the remained of the music that played.

Sarenca rested her forehead on the ground, unaware of the crowd growing once more restless around her. The old woman stepped forward and emptied her purse on the ground in front of Sarenca. “Thank you,” she whispered, in a voice thick with tears. “Thank you.”

She moved away, and another person stepped close, leaving all he had in his pockets and his whispered heartfelt thanks. And another. And another. Until the courtyard was empty, save for Sarenca, with her broken hands and her pile of money and trinkets.

What use her hands? She would never play a yeberen again. They were outlawed for good reason.

What use money? Well, perhaps…

Sarenca carefully, painfully, swept the money into her wide skirts and gathered it up. Standing, pausing with every painful movement of her hands, she slowly made her way home.

Dogs in house	Houdini, Brindle
Time writing:	~50 minutes
September word count:	13,686