Die Writing

The Devil and the Musicians, part 4

Posted in The Devil and the Musicians by erdaron on September 7, 2010


Sometimes you can’t help but write.

Have a drink

The Musicians were played loose, fast, furious. Their fingers were running wild over the strings. They were playing the kind of music that leads you both in a dance, and you can simply close your eyes in its rhythmic bliss. The Violinist stepped down the stage, playing with such intensity that flames seemed to leap off the strings. No human instrument could survive this music.

When the Woman entered, leaned against the frame to watch the Violinist. He knew she was here. The slightest hint of her fragrance, the thinnest of her shadow was all he needed to know. He smiled, and started on the song’s last verse. As she came closer, a few of the patrons stood up, clearing a table near the stage. She sat down at the table. A waiter glided by, setting down two glasses of red wine.

The last note rang, the Violinist hung up the bow and the violin, nodded to the rest of the Musicians, and stepped off the stage. The band began the next song.

The Violinist and the Woman sat across from each other in silence. He smiled, and she was beautiful. The song went on, winding through verses and lines.

“Just one song,” said the Devil.

“I know,” said the Violinist almost inaudibly.

The song was nearing the end. The Violinist kissed the air, and a tear rolled down his cheek.

The last notes struck. The Violinist peered at the Woman, desperately trying to remember every bit of her.

An unseen force pressed on his chest, pushing him away from the table. He tried to grab the table. The force pressed harder and threw him at the steps at the bottom of the stage.

“Thank you,” he whispered for the Woman through the tears, as she stood up and started walking toward the door.

In another instant, he was back on the stage, huddled, picking up his violin.

The Devil smiled bitterly.


The Devil and the Musicians, part 3

Posted in The Devil and the Musicians by erdaron on August 19, 2010


This may seem like the end, but…


The Musicians played on, and the joint was full. Every table, every chair, even the walls were filled with people leaning closer and listening, swaying with the beat. All onlookers drank the sweet music, smiling, except the Devil. He was in usual spot, in the very back of the house, leaning against the wall, trembling hands holding on to the never-ending cigarette.

“Play for me,” the Devil asked in a quivering voice.

“No,” the Musicians shook their heads.

The Devil stood up. He took a long drag off the cigarette, and the thick smoke began to pour from his lips, he raised his cane and rudely poked the man sitting in front of him. The man promptly disappeared in a wisp of thin black smoke.

“Play for me!” The Devil demanded, but the Musicians did not answer.

The Devil swung his cane, and the whole arc of people melted into black smoke. He began to walk toward the stage. A small table that was in his way began to smolder, then turned into cinders and fell apart. He raised the cane above his head.

“Play for me!” The Devil thundered, and again was left unanswered. He brought the cane down, and the entire crowd disappeared. The Devil and the Musicians were the only ones that remained in the place.  The music ceased. Slowly, he began to approach the stage, burning, scorching his way across the floor. At the edge of the stage, he stopped and reached his hand toward one of the Musicians, but something stopped him.

The Devil screamed, roared, flames leaped from him onto the floor, the tables, and the walls. The joint filled with the fires of his rage, and yet the Musicians were unmoved. When his screams died down, one of the Musicians – The Guitar Player – stepped forward, holding out his instrument for the Devil. In silence, his head hung low, the Devil accepted, and stepped onto the stage. The Guitar Player stepped down, and walked out of the place.

The Devil turned around to see the place restored, and a new audience taking seats at the tables.

The Devil and the Musicians, part 2

Posted in The Devil and the Musicians by erdaron on July 9, 2010


I can’t stop listening to this band.


It was late in the night, and the Violinist stepped down stage to play a solo. With his eyes closed, and leaning into his instrument, he carefully, patiently hung the lonely notes on the midnight air. The rest of the band huddled behind him. They seemed to be in a slumber as the Violinist played, their stillness occasionally betrayed by a nod or a tap in rhythm with the music.  Silence entered the room as everyone intently listened to his tale of love.

He didn’t have to look up, or even open his eyes to know that She was here. Her presence was so poignant to him that a beating heart was the only sense he needed to feel her near. No one had seen her enter, and it’s entirely odd how she had found an empty table in the crowded house. Strange things happened in this joint.

Yet there she was, beautiful as a summer’s shadow. All that the Violinist could do was grip his instrument tighter, draw a deep breath, and keep on playing. Tears rolled down his face. He dared step closer to the edge of the stage, and leaned forward, inching toward the temptation. But as he opened his eyes to catch a glimpse of the old memory, she was gone in a wisp of thin black smoke. Directly behind her, leaning on the wall, was the Devil, the never-ending cigarette stuck in the wicked grin.

“You can have her,” the Devil said silently.

“No, I can’t,” replied the Violinist.

The Devil and the Musicians

Posted in The Devil and the Musicians by erdaron on July 2, 2010


A true story.

Down and low

It wasn’t just music they were playing; these were memories. From the gypsy strings, they effortlessly crawled into your heart, curled into a ball, and gave that unequaled comfort of a love long lost, of tears long since dried. In the question of who came first – the music or the Musicians – it was definitely the music. The Musicians hung off their instruments, held up by something unseen, but undeniably felt.

Meanwhile, the Devil sat in the back of the room, the never-ending cigarette between his lips. The never-ending cigarette, of course, is a perk of being the Devil. He closed his eyes, and tapped his fingers to the slow beat. This was his favorite place to be.

“I want your souls,” the Devil said without moving his lips.

“How we wish we could give them to you,” the Musicians replied with their strings.

The Devil smiled, heartbroken, and thought about all the times he’s been here already, and all the nights he was going to spend here yet.