Flash Fiction – While my guitar gently weeps


Image courtesy of CEAYR


This is where Jackson moonwalked. Jagger strutted. Dave closes his eyes. T-shirt clings to his damp skin, and guitar strings slice into his fingertips. He rocks a solo that would make Hendrix weep. Tilting his face towards the spotlight, long hair cascading down his back, he is Dave Pearce – Rock God. He breathes in body odour and adoration. Hard work and success.

‘Oi.’ A voice thunders. ‘Don’t touch the instruments.’

Dave’s face flames as he slides the guitar back onto its stand and picks up his broom again. One day. He carries on sweeping the stage. One day.


Written for Friday Fictioneers. A 100 word story inspired by a photo prompt. Hop over to host Rochelle’s blog and read the other entries here. 


45 thoughts on “Flash Fiction – While my guitar gently weeps

  1. Hahahaha! Yes! And you had me at the title already. Good stuff, Louise! I would have loved to have played in a rock band in my twenties.

    Five out of five Gibsons. 😀

  2. I still dream and play the guitar any time I have a pool cue, broom, spade in my hand. Anything with a long neck. Good piece, well written

Constructive criticism appreciated

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