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Write a story about a musician struggling to find work during wartime.

Posted in Historical Fiction on Feb 21, 2020

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✍️ 41 stories

The Orphan's Song

Submitted to Contest #26

There was something about the way the wind was blowing that day that echoed how I felt. It had the same notes of rising hopelessness, of despair descending into depression, that I stopped to listen. A building across the street was hit last night, and men are digging through the rubble. The staccato of bricks striking each other provides a funeral march’s percussion to the lament of the wind. A perfect accompaniment to my thoughts. William Taylor’s Orchestra was my last hope. Or had been. Until William Taylor himself told me that there was n...

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And Then The Wars Broke Out

Submitted to Contest #26

I could hold a note when needed, learning to dance took much more effort. My bread and butter? What kept people believing I was the next big thing? I could tickle the ivories. I could play any Earth Standard, jump straight into Universal pop music, jazz and gospel. And I was acting in a good number of theater productions of the galaxy as well. I helped write some lyrics and music for the shows I participated in. I grew up on music. Nat King Cole, Stax “Saxophone” Jackson, Sam Cooke, Yedda Peal, and my great grandmother, Jinah Carter. My...

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Apollo's Unsung Love

Submitted to Contest #26

Apollo’s chariot ride was coming to an end. As he slowed down for one long last look at the sky, he lit the sky up with lustrous shades of gold and red. It was a sight to witness, certainly. Yet, the throngs of people below in the town weren’t interested. Not a single soul looked at his magnificent chariot, although just one look could have calmed down the anxiety of their dying men, fighting a useless war on their insignificant battlefield. Insignificant, even for mortal standards. Nevertheless wartime it was, and all humans lose their perc...

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A Song For A Flower

Shortlisted for Contest #26 ⭐️

           Leda noticed the guitar case as soon as the man entered the inn. Too small for a guitar, actually. A mandolin, maybe. She narrowed her eyes as she watched him, her hands busy with her barkeep tasks. He stayed by the door for a minute, looking around the taproom, at the tables only sparsely filled with customers, every single one of whom had been there at The Sow’s Ear a dozen or a hundred times before. This man by the door, this musician, was a newcomer. Newcomers were a rare ...

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The Silent Song

Submitted to Contest #26

Austria, 1944               The shouts continued to ring out as objects were thrown and broken, yet he remained completely still in his hiding place behind the wall. Jonas had originally built the secret space in the wall for his violin. The moment he found out musicians were being taken away like the others, he knew that he needed to hide his violin; to protect his precious violin from the destruction would surely befall the instrument. When he saw the large army veh...

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Playing in the Key of German

Submitted to Contest #26

Pierre St. Lacouis squinted at the page shivering before him in the night air, the gentle wind rustling the tree leaves that shimmered in the moonlight. Even in the dim light, his sharp eyes caught every single note of Camille Saint-Saens’ piece, a piece he knew by heart. It was another one of those songs that instantly touched his heart—instantly made his fingers yearn with the eagerness to produce the sweet notes on his own instrument. The violin he held balanced under his chin waited, the bow held just so above the strings, and the audien...

8 likes 1 comment 1
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Five Years Afterwards

Shortlisted for Contest #26 ⭐️

An urban vocalist. That’s what I’m “supposed” to call myself. Not that I’m the only one. Begging is illegal (officially) and street singer makes it sound as if we’re poverty stricken here (which we are).  It saves the state having to pay benefits (which it rarely does) or making the hard-pressed and supposedly neutral charities even more over-stretched, when those of us with some talent – that glorious, clumsy, old-fashioned word ACCOMPLISHMENT springs to mind – can eke out our own incomes and our families’...

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A Veteran Fiddle

Shortlisted for Contest #26 ⭐️

           First was my Pop. He served in the Civil War, a drummer boy, and an excellent one at that. Somewhere buried deep in my drawers I bet I could find his badge he willed to me. He was only 16, but he still marched just as tall –if not taller– than the other soldiers. Fighting for the unity of our country, he was my idol. I never quite knew how he was able to play music after the war. He told me the bloody details that I was too young to hear yet remember fondly. And still, he love...

7 likes 1 comment 1
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Buskin

Submitted to Contest #26

Orion woke up first although I usually do. He can’t be quiet when he is excited. He is so happy to wake me up, he stifles cried of joy as I rise from slumber. I try to keep his environment somewhat predictable to help him feel calm but things are not exactly stable around here. I never know who I am going to be from one day to the next. Literally. Mom makes me tell people I have a  different name and told me to keep track of who knew me as what name. It was an impossible task but I told her I had it down. I used to be amazing at math, w...

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In Drink and In Music

Submitted to Contest #26

“Can you stop doing that, please?”“Hmmm?” Zemira followed Willa’s gaze to her fingers, lightly scraping against the table. “Oh. Sorry.”“You’ve been fidgeting all evening, what’s the matter?”“I miss my lute.”“It’s on your back.”“I miss playing my lute.”Willa took a deep swig from the tankard in front of her. Wiping the froth from her chin, she said, “You shouldn’t charge so much. The king’s putting up the taxes again next week.”Zemira slumped in her seat. “Damn war. I’ll never get hired again.”Willa bit her lip. “What about…” She trailed off....

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Wartime Freedom

Submitted to Contest #26

‘Music? That’s just a hobby, isn’t it?’ Natasha had heard those words often throughout her life. Her parents, whilst loving their child, could never understand why she wanted to spend all her time singing. It almost didn’t help that she was an intelligent young woman, she could have done anything, been anything, at least as much as the world she lived in allowed. But Natasha knew in her heart all she really wanted to do, all that would really make her happy was to sing. She was blessed with a beautiful clear voice, which ...

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Love Songs in Wartime

Submitted to Contest #26

Ever since North Korea began to demolish the US in World War 3, the general landscape of the country proved as brittle as the hope of its citizens nationwide. President Jeremy Laramie refused to concede and Florida, specifically Aketonka Bay where I’m from, has become a target of North Korean dictator Ji-Woo Hyeon-see. I am a musician who penned mushy love songs for commercials and films for ten years and my lucrative business was leveled in the latest attack by Ji-Woo’s forces. These days, no one could give two shits about a musician, ...

6 likes 1 comment 1
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The Violinist

Submitted to Contest #26

Indonesia Dutch East Indies World War II 1943   “Eat it, or I will.” I look down at a lump of boiled corn in front of that doesn’t look appetizing at all. It is one of those days when we have to eat plain foods—corn or ration rice that’s so bad that there is no nutrition left. Ibu—Mother—talks all the time about being grateful that we still have food on our table, “Paiman’s family next door doesn’t even have salt in their home” that’s what she always says in low voice, glancing at the shack a few meters from our house. Atik, their daugh...

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Le Pétomane

Submitted to Contest #26

The old man shuffled into the smoky, dingy office of Lieutenant Colonel Marcel Dugarry, escorted and assisted by a youthful soldier with an empty sleeve pinned to the chest of his tunic. A window pane rattled from the concussion of the mighty artillery pieces lobbing high explosives into the German lines seven miles away. Dugarry waved his hand in the air, gesturing to the man to take a seat opposite him at the large, hardwood desk. The old man, walking with a cane, wore a set of dusty tails that had seen better days, white gloves and black ...

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Music not war

Submitted to Contest #26

The sky was a dark shade of grey as if foreshadowing what was to come. Nicholas took out his violin and gently placed it on his left shoulder. The moment the bow in his right hand made contact with the strings, all of the storm clouds vanished, revealing a bright sun adorning an ocean-like sky. A 19-year-old Nicholas turned into a four-year-old boy walking down a narrow street paved with cobblestones. His mother was right next to him, holding his hand, skipping as she went and smiling. Nicholas had been to Zagreb many times since then, but n...

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