Flash Fiction - The Folk Musician


 

Marina stared at herself in the mirror, then practiced a laid-back and well-rehearsed grin. She turned her head this way and that, making sure that her dimples could be seen, then allowed the grin to fall from her face. She looked tired and worn out. However, she had a job to do, and damn it, she needed the bread. She took a deep breath and released it, then reached for her violin and tucked it under her arm as she left the small room for the stage. After ten years of endless practicing and concerts, of reading favourable and unfavorable almost hateful reviews, she wanted out of the music business. She had learned the violin because she wanted to learn how to play that famous song about loneliness by the Beatles. However, her teacher proclaimed that she had a natural skill and talent that shouldn't be hidden from the world. So she began her music gigs, solo and with bands, and at first, she loved it. Marina loved how people flocked toward her after the performance to purchase her CDs, shirts, and mugs. She loved how people devoured every word she wrote on her blog and social media profiles. She felt adored and worshipped like a minor deity. Soon, she began to miss meals because someone on social media posted a nasty comment involving her weight. Another one wondered if all "dykes" looked like her. Still, another wondered when she would ever play music created by people of her own race and why was she trying to branch out to "white folks" music? She slid down the rabbit hole and, after a friend checked her into a hospital for her rapid weight loss, Marina wanted to burn it all from her mind. She made herself eat, deleted her profiles on social media, and retreated to her apartment two weeks later to become a recluse bookworm. She began keeping a journal, filling page after page with her thoughts, her moments of touching madness with her fingers, and finally an understanding of herself. She filled journal after journal and her mood brightened. Two months later, Marina received an email from a friend of hers who asked if she would be interested in doing a solo gig. One night only. Marina stared at the email and then sent a reply of YES. 

After the sold-out solo performance, Marina returned to the small room, set her violin on the table, and sat down before the mirror. She looked at herself and noticed the thin sheen of sweat on her face. She grinned like a court jester and felt the darkness slide down her arms like dirt. She looked at the violin and noticed the faint glow. 



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