The Lost Chord

One more sleep…

Thanks to Rochelle for shepherding us through another year of Friday Fictioneers. Thanks also to Bjorn for supplying the photo for the prompt this week .

Copyright Bjorn Rudberg

Copyright Bjorn Rudberg

Genre – Fiction

Word Count: 100

The Lost Chord

Hugo loved music, but whenever he sang people ran covering their ears. He played several musical instruments reasonably badly, only the piano had escaped his attentions. The Outdoor Piano Festival would change all that.

For months he cycled over to see Aunt Matilda and hammered out his versions of the classics on her yellowing ivories.

On the day of the Festival, Hugo was eager. Clutching his music he mounted the steps and played his piece to a stunned audience. He heard someone mutter ‘unbelievable’ and ‘he lost a chord.’

Pleasure turned to embarrassment as he dived to retrieve it.


I wrote this a while ago for a prompt I missed; it has been dusted off and suitably amended. May I take this opportunity to wish my fellow Friday Fictioneers and all my friends and followers a Happy Holiday, however you celebrate it, and a healthy and prosperous 2015.

 click Mr Frog for more great stories


In The Shed

I have been AWOL from Friday Fictioneers for too long; hopefully the reduction in workload will allow me to resume my writing which I have really missed, along with the interaction with my FF friends. Thanks as always to our ever supportive leader  Rochelle and thanks too this week to Doug MacIlroy for supplying the photo prompt.

Copyright - Douglas MacIlroy

Copyright – Douglas MacIlroy

Genre: Memoir

Word Count: 100

In The Shed

It’s in the shed, go and find it.’

Mum, I don’t like going in the shed, come with me?’

‘I thought you would have forgotten that little scare by now. Old Sam died two years ago. He was only seeking shelter from the snow after all.’

I wish I could forget the dirty old man I found lying on sacks in the corner. I was only five and with the curiosity and innocence of childhood had smiled and asked him his name.

The memory of his rough hands on me and the smell in the shed will haunt me forever.