One Day Music Came

One Day a Man Came By.jpg

There was a sound coming from the central square. A sound they’d never heard before, so smooth and soft, so beautiful. There was something in the tones, between the tones that made the world seem like a better place, the sky a bit bluer, the problems lighter to carry.

There was a man sitting there. He had a strange widget in his hand, a box with many strings and a bow, but it was not for hunting. They all stood and watched, listened, paralysed by the calm beauty in his melody. After a long time he stopped.

The world came back. The bad harvest, the accident last week. All the problems.

More! Said the blacksmith. Please, play more!

Yes, the others agreed. Please!

I’ll be back tomorrow, the man said. He disappeared around the corner and into the forest.

The next day they heard the music again, this time from outside the little village. They all walked like in a trance, following the soothing tunes.

He was moving now. Up and down, around in circles. The tones were happier, more cheerful. They stood and watched for a while. The fisherman started swinging from side to side, others joined in. They stayed and listened until night fell.

He stopped.

Please, dear sir, the Major said. Please continue!

But there was no more that night. The musician left.

The day after they waited. They listened, but they heard no music.

Where has he gone to? Will he ever be back?

The sun was going down.

He’s gone, said the blacksmith. He’s gone. He sat down on a big stone outside his house, his head in his hands.

Hush! Listen! The fisherman’s daughter held her hand to her ear, her head high.

A tone. A low, far away tone from somewhere deep into the forest. They followed the sound. Men, women, children, even dogs, chickens and cats. They walked and walked through the increasing darkness, hypnotized by the melody.

Look! Said the major. Lights!

The musician was sitting on a big rock in the centre of the opening. Several fires were lit. They had found him. They were so happy, so joyful. The blacksmith took the fisherman’s daughter’s hand, and they all danced. They danced all night, they sang, they laughed and they cheered. There were hugs and kisses, love and friendship.

When daylight broke, he stopped.

Thank you, dear public, he said. Farewell.

The next day and the days to come they listened. They walked into the forest, but no music could be heard. Those were sad days, even sadder than before he had arrived.

The blacksmith was standing in the his workshop clinging his hammer to a glowing piece of iron. The fisherman’s daughter looked up towards him.

She started humming a sound to the rhythm, a nice little melody by her pretty voice. The carpenter joined in, hitting his wooden hammer to a log, and his helper took the saw and a knife and slid them together. Soon others started clapping, and yet others humming different tones, lower, higher, up and down.

They danced happily around and all the village joined in. Once again their troubles were gone, once again they felt the joy of living. It wasn’t as smooth as the tunes of the violinist, not as melodic or soft, but it was fun. It was so much fun.

http://www.ancient-origins.net/ancient-places-europe/origin-music-00972

https://writingontangents.com/2017/09/05/fiction-the-sparrow-and-the-sun/

The Way Things had Always Been

 

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159 Comments

  1. Music indeed draws us into another place. I once witnessed a man play the “kitchen.” With a wooden spoon, he danced about a small kitchen, tapping, rapping, thumping out a rhythm and melody of sorts, an ear-to-ear grin breaking out on his face. It was hypnotic, and his small audience stood about transfixed as he leaped and spun about, turning that kitchen into an orchestra. Your violinist, as well as his effect on the village, is wonderfully mysterious – yet, we all know the magic of music. I was about to guess that this musician might turn out to be some sort of Pied Piper, with a twist at the end. Or that the Blacksmith might fashion a crude violin himself. So turning to singing – the most accessible instrument we all have – was a fine choice.

    Liked by 5 people

    1. Thanks! Music is really a wonderful thing, isn’t it. The idea of this story is that the villagers never ever heard any kind of music, and they are astonished. Not very realistic, of course, but it was a fun little tale to make. I took a chance on the number of strings, really. It did cross my mind I maybe should check it, but as this is a somewhere once upon a time- kind of story, I thought it didn’t really matter 🙂

      Liked by 2 people

  2. Just lovely – like a fairy tale. Music is such a powerful bond. In my own experience, when words are inadequate in capturing a certain mood or feeling, it’s music that speaks in its place. Your story is so full of music I can practically hear it 🙂 Nicely done!

    Liked by 5 people

  3. Great story! I felt for sure that the musician would be leading them out into the forest to slaughter them… imagine my surprise when he didn’t! 😉

    Also loving the new site look. Very clean and easy on the eyes. Good job all around!

    Liked by 2 people

  4. You’ve an amazing gift for flash fiction; I’m rather envious, I admit. But I just had to say it was a pleasant surprise to come across a story where someone wasn’t eaten.
    Not in text, anyway. 🙂

    Liked by 2 people

  5. Once you get introduced to the pre-lingual rewards of music that can’t be described or really metered intellectually, you’ll spend your lifetime enjoying its retreat. Your story reminds me of watching the Beverly Hillbillies as a child and seeing something inspire Granny to begin swaying her arms and Uncle Jed to start tapping his boot and for Jethro to then pick up a washboard and Ellie May to start a square dance. Once music’s in your blood it never leaves. This truth of music presence can even inspire those consciously perceptive enough, to write blogs about its mystery. Dave … Freewill Logistics

    Liked by 3 people

  6. what a beautifully atmospheric piece of writing – i loved every bit of it. My grandad was a postie in the west of Ireland. He was a quiet man but he’d bring out his old fiddle if someone twisted his arm. He died before I was born but his fiddle is still in my granny’s house, i’ve asked her if i can have it some day. If only it could speak and tell me stories of all the parties he played at! looking forward to reading more of your writing :o)

    Liked by 1 person

  7. Great job on reeling me in to stay for the end lol, I actually visualized every aspect, your detail is admiral & the way you transition from scene to scene showcases your ability…..thanks for the story! Loved it!

    Liked by 1 person

  8. This was beautiful! I know how it feels to be connected with something so passionatly. Music has indeed changes my life in so many ways. Those lyrics which make you feel every emotion are the best things in the world.

    Liked by 1 person

  9. Can you please go and read my first ever blog. It would mean the world to me. I am not here promoting my stuff i just didn’t knew anyother way to tell people about my blog and aftwr reading this i feel we have similar thoughts. This was fabulous. I completely loved it. So beautifuly written.

    Liked by 2 people

  10. Beautifully written. You’re captured the essence of music and it’s capacity to connect people from all walks of life.
    I love fiction, and short fiction, which I know from experience is sometimes the most challenging to write. You manage to tell a very captivating narrative in short form, which is a sign of strong storytelling. The story is brief, but rich in meaning and feels very ‘full’.
    Thank you so much for sharing. I’m definitely following your blog now and look forward to reading much more of your writing.

    Liked by 1 person

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