EXHIBIT
“Is this
where I leave my exhibit?”
Craig curled
his lip. “Not that old piano?”
“Careful,”
said Paul, “It has a soul.”
“Rubbish!”
Craig sneered, “And we don’t take rubbish.”
“This is
the Tate Modern, isn’t it? Where they exhibit dead sheep?”
“We’ve
moved on since then.” Craig was losing his cool – he was always being taunted
about the formaldehyde sheep. “Your piano belongs in the tip.”
“You’ll
be sorry you said that,” Paul warned, and walked away.
Craig
kicked the piano.
With no
doorman to move them on, a crowd formed as a dirge emanated from the unmanned
instrument.
..................................................................
Don't blame me - I don't choose the photograph! That was taken by John Nixon and picked for Friday Fictioneers by Rochelle who blogs at https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/ You can follow the link from her blog to read what other authors wrote to the prompt - after leaving a comment on mine, if you would be so kind!
