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Do you enjoy this short story? What's the meaning you get from it?

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The orchestra was playing one of the masterpieces of French baroque. The night was young and the air was fresh.

The violinists, the celloists, the pianist - all were playing. And the finest flutists in all of France. And three of them were masters of the art - and one of those three, a genius of music - he was the younger of the three.

And I? I was the composer of the orchestra, and I have a story I would like to share with you.

It was in the middle of this perfect performance, as the audience were listening to the sounds of music, that I heard someone - or rather, 'something' - sing.

Now, I have been a composer for years, and I have come across instruments by the thousands. But I had never heard flutes singing!!!

And they were the same three I have mentioned earlier. Keeping one ear to the act of composing, I thus lent the other ear to what they may be saying.

One sang, "seize the moment, enjoy and be merry."

The other sang, "I wish this would never end!"

And the younger flute sang, "fear not - for our sounds are not of today, but of tomorrow. Our voice is robust and eternal."

"Eternal?" they sang back.

"Eternal. Forever singing, and composing at my heart's content."

"Eternal?" they repeated, as the baroque procession played on.

"Eternal," it replied. "I am to shower the skies with the echo of my voice; to sing the flowers open, to symphonise the sunset, to soothe the stars at night with Vivaldi's concerto La Notte."

And as the flute melted in its own dreams, it released tiny bursts of emotion - so passionate, so dreamy, it brought tears to my eyes.

"Eternal?" they repeated.

"Eternal," it replied, "eternally alive - eternally happy - eternally true."

"Rubbish!" cried one flute, letting off an angry nuance.

"Ridiculous! cried another, leading to an irritated flurry of notes.

"Wishful desire!"

"Impossible hopes!"

"Delusional lies!"

"Idealistic notions!"

"Rebellious immaturity!"

"Ignorant fanaticism!"

But the flute would sing away, in harmonic contrast to its counterparts. Not once did it retreat a note. Not once did it fall back an octave.

"Does this young flute not know, that life depends on the shine of our brass, or the quality of our voice? And without them, don't you realise we are then no more?"

But the flute did not listen.

"Why are you so optimistic? You will die when those lips stop blowing and those fingers stop playing."

But the flute did not listen.

It's voice did not quiver, and it sang with pure grace, I had fallen in love with the instrument. My soul was locked in a blinding ecstasy, linked to the sway of this young flute as it sang deeper and deeper, and closer and closer, and nearer and nearer to a climactic finale.

The other flutes watched enthralled as they saw the young one steal their stage, letting free all the urges trapped inside, expressing it with notes of such seductive nature, it reduced the entire audience to tears and awe.

But just then, at the heights of mystical apprehension, the utmost point of ecstasy, the little flute slipped from the fingers holding it and crashed mercilessly to the floor ...

But the orchestra had not stopped its music, even though their romantic hero had met a tragic end - there it lay in silence: shattered into pieces.

The young genius took his broken instrument off the floor and laid it gently in its case.

I heard the two elder flutes burst out in singsong laughter. Something boiled inside me.

"See how silent it returned to its grave," said one.

"Sing for us now, little one," mocked the other. "Come back as you'd promised us."

Oh, how I wished it would sing - how I prayed to God!

But it didn't sing... It didn't...

It seemed that the young flute had indeed been grossly mistaken.

And our genius flutist did not leave either. He waited for the orchestra to end the masterpiece. When it did, he stood up for all the audience to see. Then, with a one-two-three and as if he had planned this all along, the young genius began to whistle a tune. It was difficult to distinguish what it was... but I didn't have to search too long for the answer...

It was a beautiful excerpt from Vivaldi... and his famous concerto "La Notte".

All in all, what did you think? I would like to learn from your points of view.

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2 ANSWERS


  1. it was... intriguing. i think it means (to me anyway) that, no matter how they teased him, and patronized him, he kept going. even when his flute was broken, he continued to sing. he pushed, and kept going. this was beautiful. i love the detail put into it, and i can really see all the parts of it, and feel it in my soul, the way the music sounded. amazing.

    i hope you have a great day!!!

    -Angel


  2. The orchestra played Vivaldi would be less like I don't know what I am talking about. Composer of the symphony or Conductor of the orchestra. Orchestras do NOT have composers.

    Three a genius of music? You mean of the three, ONE was a genius of music. Why of music? redundant.

    The youngest. The younger would be between 2 not 3.

    Have told a story? We getting a retread?

    Flutes singing - argh!

    Eternal, eternal eternal -- an attempt at bad poetry in the middle of a short story.

    The part about the hero being meeting his tragic end is confusing. IS the hero the flute, the genius, the tune. Is it the end of the part or is the instrument really broken. Since the narrator is the composer (?) of the orchestra either he IS Vivaldi or his is a contemporary of Vivaldi, perhaps a competitor, hence the delusion of defeating the flute?

    I have no idea what you are trying to say here because you have no idea what you are writing about. I admire your attempt to write over your own head, but the result - at the moment - is amateurish and nonsensical.  

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