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Struck A Chord (standard:horror, 2235 words)
Author: Rene AmadorAdded: Jul 07 2003Views/Reads: 2090/1268Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Musicians....where do they get their inspiration?
 



Yvonne walked into the bar on a Thursday evening.  She liked the bar
because not only did she know the bartender but because of the resident 
entertainer.  She sat on the bar stool and called the bartender over. 

“Maxwell.” 

“Yvonne.  How are you tonight?  Can I get you anything?” 

“Just a gin and tonic.  Is he here yet?” 

“No, not yet, but he should be coming soon.  You've been looking forward
to this all day.  I can tell.  It's written all over your face.” 

“So?  What's wrong with that?  You make it sound like I'm desperate or
something.  Well, I'm not.  I'm just...curious.” 

“For the past two weeks you've been coming here and swooning over him. 
Why don't you get it over with and talk to him already?” 

“I'm probably not his type.  I bet he's used to a different life.  I'll
wait here until he starts.” 

“Suit yourself.  I've got other people to get to, so if you don't
mind...” 

Maxwell walked to the other end of the bar and refilled a couple's
drinks.  Yvonne sat with her drink and sipped.  Today was an exhausting 
day and it was true what Maxwell said: she had been looking forward to 
this all day.  She looked at her watch.  The face read 7:30 p.m., only 
a little while longer.  Yvonne walked towards the back of the bar to 
get a good seat. 

The hallway on the side led to a back room complete with tables, chairs
and sofas.  It lent the room a great deal of comfort.  A few other 
customers were already sitting but her table was available.  She sat 
down and set her drink on a napkin, pushing back the curled-up corner 
of it.  The stage just to her right was already set.  There was a 
barstool and a small side table accompanied by a microphone stand.  
Soon, he'll sit and play. 

It seemed like time slunk along but eight finally came, the anointed
hour.  Yvonne couldn't sit still; she squirmed in her seat with 
anticipation.  The door on the side of the stage opened and quiet 
dropped on the room like a bomb.  Every sound stopped as Kevin stepped 
out the door and onto the stage.  His guitar case was in his hand.  He 
set it on the table and opened the case.  Gently he took the guitar 
out, holding it by the neck and body, his most prized possession.  He 
spoke into the microphone. 

“Thank you all for coming out tonight.  Now we can begin,” he said with
a smile that could charm anyone.  Kevin began to play the guitar.  Each 
note sounded out, rode along the air to the audience and glided into 
their ears, telling a deep secret that revealed another side of 
themselves. 

Yvonne sat in her booth and heard Kevin play.  This was why she came
back night after night.  His music was intoxicating.  It was like 
nothing she had ever heard before.  She watched his hands nimbly go up 
and down the neck of the guitar and pluck the strings, commanding them 
to sound.  Each riff and chord penetrated her very being, chilling her 
to the bone and setting her heart afire at the same time.  She was 
completely under his spell.  Her eyes wandered up his arms, his 
shoulders and to his face.  Then she looked into his eyes, his clear 
hazel eyes.  In the two weeks she had been coming she never looked him 
in the eyes.  Before she could take her eyes away, Kevin looked 
directly at her. 

Yvonne froze.  She didn't know what to do.  Reflexively she smiled to
Kevin and he smiled back.  His smile was warm and inviting as if saying 
‘Welcome.'  Yvonne felt suddenly embarrassed and lowered her head. She 
stared into her half-finished glass and consumed the remaining gin and 
tonic.  The rush of alcohol threw her a bit off balance and lowered her 
inhibitions.  Kevin looked out to the rest of the audience and 
continued playing.  He was still smiling, thinking about Yvonne.  After 
a few more songs, Kevin announced that he was taking a break and will 


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