I tried to think of a pithier title and couldn’t come up with anything.
You can’t know what happens after you die. The piano feels screws loosening, feels a crowbar somewhere underneath. Wood cracks, splinters. It’ll be soon. They’ve already pried off its ivory keys. At least it doesn’t hurt.
There’s a pling sound as its strings are cut, the last music it will ever play.
* * *
“What a unique table!”
The table feels a hand run along its glossy surface.
“It looks like it was made from a grand piano top.”
Was I ever a piano? the table wonders. It can’t remember. Unfortunately, you can’t know what happened before you were born.
26 Comments | tags: fiction, flash fiction, Friday Fictioneers, music, Piano, rebirth, reincarnation | posted in Dusk, Friday Fictioneers
Copyright Roger Bultot
The state fair was abuzz with the news: a boy had grown a truck for his 4-H project.
“How did you do it?” the judge asked.
“I planted part of the chassis and watered it with motor oil, infused with Miracle-Gro,” the boy said dully. His was the only unexcited face in sight. “It doesn’t matter: it didn’t work.”
“What do you mean? This is a miracle! You took a wrecked truck and brought it back to life.”
“But I did it for my dad.”
“Ah,” the judge said. “Where is he?”
“He was in the truck when it wrecked.”
32 Comments | tags: 4-H, death, fantasy, father, fiction, flash fiction, Friday Fictioneers, rebirth, state fair | posted in Friday Fictioneers