For Friday Fictioneers
Flash fiction, 100 words
Saturday mornings, the hustle and bustle of the open air market always beckoned. Jostling my way through the narrow alley, I never failed to spot familiar faces as well as tempting items for sale.
Buried in the midst of all the commotion, Gilly stood there in tatters, playing the violin to the enchantment of all.
Saturdays are different now. Quiet and empty. The few faces I see are covered with masks. The old crate Gilly used to climb up on for his performances sits unused. Still, I can somehow hear the plaintive notes of his strings playing for the angels.
Thank you to Rochelle at RochelleWisoff.com for this happy kickstart, with the photo prompt above.