One more step and I will see the old stone seat at the top of the hill. The prickly green and gold gorse bushes crowd my path and their heady perfume my senses. In the distance, the sea is blue, lapping the shores of the Bristol Channel.
My walking stick, cut from my garden's apple tree in the valley below is my comforter and relieves my arthritic legs as I pause to gaze back across the rolling Exmoor Hills and valleys I've loved all my life.
I know not why but in my other hand, I carry an old wooden flute - my wooden flute. It is a strange thing to carry to the top of a high hill but it is comforting. It has been with me for the happiest moments of my life.
Together, we have made music. Sometimes by ourselves and sometimes with our friends for hour after happy hour. Eyes smiling, bodies bent together, sharing the rhythms, violin bows rising and falling. Always my flute soaring like a lark through the sounds, texture and melodies in perfect time.
My love played the violin until she left me. For many years she was my only love and since then there has been no other. Of all the people with whom I have shared music, she reached me most deeply. Her sounds raised my spirits into the white clouds and held them aloft as they danced among the green hills and the gentle countryside. Together we enjoyed our long romance, spending our lives contentedly walking, living and loving. This was our favourite hill and I am determined to climb it again.
One more step and I am there. The wind is singing in the branches of our favourite tree and a narrow shaft of sunlight is breaking through the clouds illuminating brightly the old grey stone seat we have so often shared. Somewhere a violin is playing and the wind is like a softly spoken orchestra. One more step and I will hear it all more clearly. The air is like crystal this May day morning and someone is calling for me not to be afraid.
As I settle my old body against the cold, comforting stone, I feel calm. Once more I lift my flute to my lips. The orchestra has reached a crescendo and my love's violin is rising and falling in arpeggios more brilliant than the brightest sun.
One more breath, one more melody and my love and I are, once more, reunited.
The End
Rob Hopcott, online author
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This short flash fiction very short story about an old stone seat, lost love, romance, death and reunion is copyright Rob Hopcott 2008, all rights reserved. All characters and places in this flash short fiction love story and other free on-line humor, short stories, flash fictions, science fictions, micro-fictions, sudden fictions, post card fictions or very short stories on this site, are fictitious and no reference is intended to any person or organization, living or otherwise.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
One more step - a flash fiction very short story about an old stone seat, lost love, romance, death and reunion by Rob Hopcott
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4 comments:
Very touching.
Did the seat inspire this one Rob?
Excellent, very tranquil and 'at peace'.
I felt this could have been a piece of music itself.. the way it read. Quite, tender undertones and then heading swiftly to an exhilarating climax. A wonderful reading experience.
Miladysa, I awoke this Saturday morning with this story in my head with its 'one more step' theme.
Originally, I was going to put off writing it until Monday but it kept pressing me and wouldn't go away.
In the end, I sat down and finished the initial writing at midday by which time I was fairly emotionally wrecked.
I knew of this seat high up above Horner on Exmoor and so went out and took the pictures to support the story and calm myself down.
Boyward and Daffy, thank you so much for your kind words. Writing this story generated in me powerful feelings and I am so happy to be reassured it worked for others too.
BTW, the 'one more step' refrain was inspired by thoughts of the Wessex Folk Festival songwriting conversation I had wondered about entering (well spotted Daffy). It has to have a nautical theme so it would have to be 'one more step' up the rigging or something similar.
Isn't it strange how our creative minds can slide from one thing to another?
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