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Showing posts with label flash fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label flash fiction. Show all posts

Tuesday, July 30, 2019

Chicago - by Lacy Muircastle

Dear Readers

What follows is my interpretation of fanfiction in the form of flash fiction.

Musician, Mr Hudson, recently released a new album -  When the Machine Stops.  Chicago (featuring Vic Mensa,) is a single that was released prior to the album hitting the airwaves, and which is now included on said album.


As old blue eyes, himself said, Chicago was my kind of town.  I don’t understand why he didn’t get that.  Chicago was my kind of people too, people who smile at you while singing the blues. 

Music - house, electronic dance, blues, jazz… echoed through the streets of the city, as it echoed through the core of my being, it was the elixir of life for me.  If he knew me as well as he thought he did, he’d have known that.

Instead, he presented me with a band of gold.  As much as I loved him, I was not suburban housewife material.  If I put on that band, the music would die.

The old cliché about 20/20 hindsight drummed through my psyche. He was right; it was cold here at this time of the year. Could I go slinking back to him?  He said I’d run home.  Should I give him the satisfaction of being right?  Could I swallow I told you so?  I’d swallowed so much, what was a bit more?

            I should’ve known that dreams don’t come true for everyone.  New beginnings were not always all; they were cut out to be. 

It was my turn to face a closed door. Chicago had divided my heart.  Vic or Ben?

            Vic said, “come to me Missy; you got talent…”  How long I’d waited to hear those words.  I was on a high.  It was finally my time.

But the walls of the studio whispered “my misery is that woman,” and my heart shattered.  A thousand decibels were screaming. What had I done?

            He knew I loved company, and he knew how business went, he created it, created me.  I sat and stared out into the grey haze that was winter in Chicago. Everything had lost its definition, including me. One minute he was promising record deals and pots of gold at the end of the rainbow, and the next minute the warming glow of love and happiness were snuffed out.

He accused me of stringing him along and trying to play him like a symphony.  He said I did it just to fuck with him.  He has no clue.  For some reason he thought I was judging him, he said he could see it in my eyes.  He needed glasses.

Back home, there was a band of gold waiting for me.  I know he’d forgive me, but could I forgive myself? Could I live with myself?  What about my dreams?

He’s gone.  On the road, it was his happy place.  I’d thought my happy place was to be with him.  We all know what thought did…  He said he’ll see me when he got back to Chicago.

Blue eyes had got it wrong.  Chicago had let me down.

 Ben called again.  “You'll be back,” he said.  That piece of gold had magnetic powers.

“You'll see, sooner, later you'll run home.  You'll run home…”