The hands look hardened with stress, more like a manual laborer’s hands, than a musician’s.
Jack plays on to alleviate stress. The world had knocked him down several times. He had built hotels and homes, but was never invited to take a peek of the finished work from inside. He created comfort for others, but had never experienced it. A priest had recognized musical talent in him, and had gifted him this guitar. He would probably build a cathedral next, which would not bar his entry to the inner precincts.
A car stopped by, and out stepped a very sophisticated gentleman, wearing a tail coat and hat.
“Will you play on my band? We have a concert on Saturday, and my guitarist has fallen sick.”
“Sorry, I can’t. I do not have the kind of clothes needed to enter those hallowed auditoriums. I have been refused entry to concert halls, which I have built.”
“All that will be taken care of.”
“But, why should I oblige you? What is your offer?”
“People were incapable of appreciating the poetry in stone which you carved. You have an alternative talent to touch hearts, and I have the platform. That is my offer.”
Inspired by Flash Fiction for the Practical Practitioner for Week #7- 2017