Writer's Block: Violins and Words
Okay, so I gave you a list of sparker sentences, so remember how I asked you to try make a story out of it--and at least 500 words? Well here's one story that stemmed out of that:
- ...Just then, out of nowhere, violins started playing.
"Violins and Words"
It seemed so romantic, this date was. And she sure had the time of her life.
But right now, it looked like she wasn't. Not with spaghetti in her hair. How was I supposed to know the waiter who would serve us the spaghetti would slip on an ice cube and dump all that spaghetti on her, missing me completely? And she thought it was all a mean prank that I pulled to try to show her I had some sense of humor. Now she won't talk to me. So I hoped to at least make it up for her by taking her to the park.
The park at night was--in a poetic sense--splendiferous. The lamplight and fireflies made the park look like some wonderland that you only read in books. But to be there--man, you really had to be there to appreciate it. I hoped this made up for that whole dinner fiasco.
Turns out that I'm just some hopeless dreamer.
Even the park's breathtaking sights didn't seem to faze her. I thought it would, but she kept crossing her arms, her face in a frown. I tried to talk to her, but there was this gap that separated her and me; it just made communicating with her so impossible.
...Just then, out of nowhere, violins started playing.
And it played a song that I knew so well. I loved that song--but at a time like this, I'd rather not hear it. But darn those violins--they just played on, tempting me to sing along.
And then there were the lyrics. It just fits the current situation so well. ESPECIALLY right now. Those lyrics I wished I could sing to her--to let her know how stupid I was for doing that, how I'd hang myself on the gallows, bathe in acid, jump off a skyscraper, drill holes into my skull, or do all of the above just for doing something stupid like that. I just wanted to apologize to her.
But of course, the quartet wouldn't let themselves go unheard.
They popped out of the bushes behind us, bursting out in song. They sang the song so vibrantly and in a way that somehow spoke to her. A minute into the song, she whispered, "Is there anything you want to tell me, George?"
I froze. Now she wanted to talk to me, when I was out of words. I leaned back, my head frantically trying to find words. But then they just came to me: "Shellie, I'm--sorry for what happened at dinner. I never meant it to be a prank of any sorts. I just hope--that right now, you'd still find it in you to still talk to me after this date. I just--wanted to let you know."
But she lunged forward slowly, kissing me on the cheek. "You just needed to tell me that, George. I still like you."
After that, she told me she needed to go, as she was meeting someone that night. It was then that someone from behind the bushes came out and sat beside me. It was my friend, Judd.
"You liked that little show I gave you both?" He asked.
"Dude," I murmured, "I owe you big time for what you did."
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