| General Fiction posted March 13, 2017 |
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Angel or Demon?
Child Prodigy (500 words)
by jusylee72
As a child, I knew both angels and demons. All humans do.
Most just don't remember. The door of communication closes at five.
At four, I fell down a shaft, an old mine on our ranch. I died, but at the very last turn between life and death, I was lifted out of the hole by my father and lived. I was brought back to earth.
My soul was of both worlds. The memories were not erased.
Amazingly, both sides encouraged me to act well - Gain people's trust, seem helpful, demand respect, learn everything, be a perfectionist.
I became a pawn on their chessboard. Moved back and forth in the directions they thought my life should take.
A child prodigy in music. Violin and piano became my doorway.
"A twelve-year-old to compete in the Tchaikovsky International Music Estefede." The newspapers extolled my talents.
Demons at night, angels during the day, tugged at my soul.
I picked Tchaikovsky, the composer I would study the most. He was such a pathetic, yet loving soul. Sent away by his mother when ten. Made to help support the family, Mother died when he was fourteen. He wanted to be openly gay, yet hid it in affairs with women. "He killed himself," the demons declared. The Angels denied it. He was just a struggling artist, whose soul needed cleansing.
I walked on stage.
Concerto in D major so uplifting, so expressive, the very meaning of joy. It poured out of me and onto the audience. My fingers flew across the strings nothing holding me back from the ecstasy within. Was that how he felt at that moment? When he wrote it, was it one of those brief moments in his life when it felt wonderful?
He danced on the wind. He flew above life. He loved. No demon or angel held his soul.
I walked off the stage.
I returned to play concerto No. 1 for piano. Giant Chords up and down the piano, arpeggios ringing across the stage. Both compositions happy, human and loving. Not the works he is known for but the works he loved.
Demons told the story of his last symphony, the Pathetique, that his death was not from cholera but from self-inflicted guilt.
Angels insisted "Nutcracker" was his crowning glory. Children around the world know the melodies to the most beautiful ballet of all time.
I knew the human side of him. I could feel it in his early work before they fought over him. I knew he was a child caught between them just as I was.
My last performance as a hybrid.
I rejected both angel and demon.
A smile slowly crossed my face as I became human. Full of faults, vulnerable. My new friend, my composer, God, became part of me. He spoke to me through music. I interpreted it for the world. The music and I, united by melodious harmonies, both anxious to fully live.
Years later, when I crossed over, Tchaikovsky greeted me.
Supernatural Flash Fiction writing prompt entry
As a child, I knew both angels and demons. All humans do.
Most just don't remember. The door of communication closes at five.
At four, I fell down a shaft, an old mine on our ranch. I died, but at the very last turn between life and death, I was lifted out of the hole by my father and lived. I was brought back to earth.
My soul was of both worlds. The memories were not erased.
Amazingly, both sides encouraged me to act well - Gain people's trust, seem helpful, demand respect, learn everything, be a perfectionist.
I became a pawn on their chessboard. Moved back and forth in the directions they thought my life should take.
A child prodigy in music. Violin and piano became my doorway.
"A twelve-year-old to compete in the Tchaikovsky International Music Estefede." The newspapers extolled my talents.
Demons at night, angels during the day, tugged at my soul.
I picked Tchaikovsky, the composer I would study the most. He was such a pathetic, yet loving soul. Sent away by his mother when ten. Made to help support the family, Mother died when he was fourteen. He wanted to be openly gay, yet hid it in affairs with women. "He killed himself," the demons declared. The Angels denied it. He was just a struggling artist, whose soul needed cleansing.
I walked on stage.
Concerto in D major so uplifting, so expressive, the very meaning of joy. It poured out of me and onto the audience. My fingers flew across the strings nothing holding me back from the ecstasy within. Was that how he felt at that moment? When he wrote it, was it one of those brief moments in his life when it felt wonderful?
He danced on the wind. He flew above life. He loved. No demon or angel held his soul.
I walked off the stage.
I returned to play concerto No. 1 for piano. Giant Chords up and down the piano, arpeggios ringing across the stage. Both compositions happy, human and loving. Not the works he is known for but the works he loved.
Demons told the story of his last symphony, the Pathetique, that his death was not from cholera but from self-inflicted guilt.
Angels insisted "Nutcracker" was his crowning glory. Children around the world know the melodies to the most beautiful ballet of all time.
I knew the human side of him. I could feel it in his early work before they fought over him. I knew he was a child caught between them just as I was.
My last performance as a hybrid.
I rejected both angel and demon.
A smile slowly crossed my face as I became human. Full of faults, vulnerable. My new friend, my composer, God, became part of me. He spoke to me through music. I interpreted it for the world. The music and I, united by melodious harmonies, both anxious to fully live.
Years later, when I crossed over, Tchaikovsky greeted me.
Most just don't remember. The door of communication closes at five.
At four, I fell down a shaft, an old mine on our ranch. I died, but at the very last turn between life and death, I was lifted out of the hole by my father and lived. I was brought back to earth.
My soul was of both worlds. The memories were not erased.
Amazingly, both sides encouraged me to act well - Gain people's trust, seem helpful, demand respect, learn everything, be a perfectionist.
I became a pawn on their chessboard. Moved back and forth in the directions they thought my life should take.
A child prodigy in music. Violin and piano became my doorway.
"A twelve-year-old to compete in the Tchaikovsky International Music Estefede." The newspapers extolled my talents.
Demons at night, angels during the day, tugged at my soul.
I picked Tchaikovsky, the composer I would study the most. He was such a pathetic, yet loving soul. Sent away by his mother when ten. Made to help support the family, Mother died when he was fourteen. He wanted to be openly gay, yet hid it in affairs with women. "He killed himself," the demons declared. The Angels denied it. He was just a struggling artist, whose soul needed cleansing.
I walked on stage.
Concerto in D major so uplifting, so expressive, the very meaning of joy. It poured out of me and onto the audience. My fingers flew across the strings nothing holding me back from the ecstasy within. Was that how he felt at that moment? When he wrote it, was it one of those brief moments in his life when it felt wonderful?
He danced on the wind. He flew above life. He loved. No demon or angel held his soul.
I walked off the stage.
I returned to play concerto No. 1 for piano. Giant Chords up and down the piano, arpeggios ringing across the stage. Both compositions happy, human and loving. Not the works he is known for but the works he loved.
Demons told the story of his last symphony, the Pathetique, that his death was not from cholera but from self-inflicted guilt.
Angels insisted "Nutcracker" was his crowning glory. Children around the world know the melodies to the most beautiful ballet of all time.
I knew the human side of him. I could feel it in his early work before they fought over him. I knew he was a child caught between them just as I was.
My last performance as a hybrid.
I rejected both angel and demon.
A smile slowly crossed my face as I became human. Full of faults, vulnerable. My new friend, my composer, God, became part of me. He spoke to me through music. I interpreted it for the world. The music and I, united by melodious harmonies, both anxious to fully live.
Years later, when I crossed over, Tchaikovsky greeted me.
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Writing Prompt The character in your story is involved in some way with the supernatural. |
 Recognized |
Sometimes the smallest prompt can lead you to a story needing to be told.
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