The Fiddle

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My fingers brush your mahogany surface, wondering at your shape. Those little black lines curling on your cheeks, those lovely pale strings that give out such pure music when strung. I softly pick you out of your velvet case, handling you gently. I stare at you in wonder for a moment longer, then turn you around and put you in place under my chin, your bow now in my hand.


I gently tug at your strings, smiling as the music sounds. My smile disappears as my music teacher shushes me, I smile apologetically back at her, what can I say, I?m drawn to your beauty. I watch my teacher carefully, waiting for the moment when I can play you. My eyes follow her every movement as her hands begin to conduct and the singer?s voice fills the room. I listen and ready myself, then after a moment?s pause, I begin. Your bow strikes the strings truthfully, creating a pure soulful sound. I let you ring out for a moment longer, then, a smile on my face, I begin the true song, creating the pathway for others to follow.


I listen as my classmates start their instruments, but I still say you?re the best. I play and I play through the song, through all the others to make sure you?re heard. Never tiring, never wishing to stop, I continue to play, following the singer and supporting her. Though you?re second best in this piece, to me your always first.


Finally the piece is coming to the end. I play the climax, following the singer, blending with the others, your voice still rings out. The last chord is struck and your last note is played. The performance is done.

But fear not, for tonight, you will shine again?.





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Odessa_Sterling00 said...
Jun. 9, 2011 at 5:42 am
It was good, just a few puncuation mistakes.  
 
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