A musical writing activity

[Patrick]

I had one week without internet, and while listening to one song I had an idea. What if I took a line from that song and then wrote a short story around it (I limited myself to around 500 words, but they can be longer)? So I did, and then did it with another song. I propose that whoever wants to take part feels free to do so.

 

First one:

 

“My own land has closed its gates on me.” – Song: Sonata Arctica – My Land

 

“For nineteen years I serve my country, and what do I get?” – Ivan Ivanovich Kalikov left the question hanging in the air as he took a cigarette from his case and lit it.

 

“You would think that I get a decent home, state-pension, and can live out my days happily with my wife and three children, but no. It simply doesn’t happen.”

 

“It is often like that in the KGB, Ivan. You knew when you enlisted.”

 

“What did I ever do against the chairman?” – It was a rhetorical question, and he knew it. The chairman needed to simply speak a wish, and it was done. That was the way in the Soviet Union.

 

“Apparently, you knew too much, Ivan. I’m sorry.” Being friends with the man, soon to be executed, made it only harder for Sergey. In order to save his own skin, he had to do it, and Ivan knew this. If Sergey did not sign the order to execute his own friend, then both of them would get killed.

 

“I’m sorry Ivan. I know that we have been friends for the last seventeen years, and have been through much together, but the chairman wrote himself the letter.”

 

Ivan nodded. It made it even harder for Sergey. His friend knew that he was going to be killed and did not even blame him for it.

 

It only took three seconds, but it seemed much longer for Sergey, when he signed the order. Two officers took Ivan by the arms and led him from the office down to the basement. They made him stand next to a wall, where he himself had supervised several executions. He had never thought that he would end in the same way. They tied his hands behind his back and lined up the execution squad with their Kalashnikovs. This was it. The end. Then Sergey arrived in the basement. Everything happened fast. He ordered the squad leader to untie Ivan, but he, having his own orders, resisted. He received a bullet in the head, from Sergey’s service revolver. The rest of the execution squad stood down. Two of them, faithful men of Sergey knew what they had to do. They disarmed their comrades, and handed their weapons to Ivan and Sergey.

 

“What are you doing? They’ll kill both of us now.”

 

“Friendship means much more to me, to throw it away so simply. If we’re lucky we might make it to the border before news of our exploit gets out. Vasiliy and his brother shall look after these guys here, while we make our escape.”

 

“But what about my family?” – Ivan asked. As far as he knew they were still in their Saint Petersburg home, waiting for him to return for dinner.

 

“They’re already dead. I could do nothing to prevent it. Come, we must hurry.”

 

They reached the border four hours later, but never made it to Finland. News of their escape had reached the border posts and their own country had closed its gates on them. They died bravely and needlessly.

 

 

Second one:

 

“When I close my eyes forever” – Song: Kamelot – Forever

 

“Can I help you sir?” – I asked him. He simply walked past the counter without speaking a single word. His dark glasses hid his expression as he walked towards the back of the shop. Since he was the only customer I walked after him. He wore a brown, leather coat, which was buttoned right up to the top and a matching color felt hat. As he passed by the bottles of whiskey, he stretched out his hand and grabbed a bottle by the neck. His movements seemed to be strange, as did his whole behavior.

 

“What is this?” – He asked me. I couldn’t quite see what he had in his hands, so replied simply:

 

“It is written on the bottle sir.”

 

What happened next was completely unexpected. The bottle slipped from his hands and shattered on the tiled floor of my shop. The smell of whiskey permeated the air as a heavy silence settled between us. I put a hand on his shoulder and he whirled suddenly around. I stepped back, not sure what to do. If only my father had been here, he would have immediately known what to do. I was pretty sure that my father would have thrown the man out of the shop, but he was now asleep, and I was the one standing there, breathing in the vapors thick with whiskey.

 

“Sir, you shall have to pay that.” – I said, in a shaky voice.

 

“I still don’t know what I have to pay.” – He replied, and took off his hat, scratching his balding head. I was starting to get annoyed. Was this man blind, or what? I could by now clearly see that the bottle, which had broken on the floor, was a bottle of single malt Scottish whiskey, well over ten dollars a bottle.

 

“What are you, blind?” – I asked, letting a hint of annoyance seep into my voice. He did not reply, staring at me from behind his dark glasses, as he put the hat back onto his head.

 

I glanced at the price tag for the whiskey, but could not see it, so I reached for it to turn it towards me, to see it better. My hand never made it, as with a sudden movement he grabbed my wrist. I tried to break free, but his grip was too strong.

 

“Let me ask you one thing. When did you last do a good deed? For God’s sake, why can’t you help out a blind man, when he asks you what he has in his hands? Even if I could see as you can, it would have been much easier for you to tell me what I had in my hands, than telling me that it was written on the bottle.”

 

This was crazy. How could he have grabbed the bottle, then my wrist, if he was blind?

 

“Here take this wad of notes. I know it is much more than the price of the bottle I have broken, but I am giving it to you, in order to teach you a lesson. Try to be kinder once in a while, and people shall be kinder in return.”

 

I took the money from him. I had no choice; he was still clinging to my wrist. He let go, and started slowly walking out of the shop. As he left, I started thinking about what he had just said.

Edited November 1, 2005 by Patrick Durham

[Sweetcherrie]

I like that last one, and it does make you think

 

and if my inspiration lets me...who knows, I might just listen to a song, and suddenly feel like writing myself.