The cello nestled between her legs, comfortable as an old lover. But the bow was heavy and refused her command. A strangled note shivered the air.
All gone. The whole village.
She heard their screaming in the lone note, the beat of fists against the bolted door, the choking as smoke filled the hall. When she returned, only ash and charred bone remained.
Let my music be their revenge! The strings vibrated. The sun moved. Motes of light danced a gavotte – perhaps an illusion created by her tears, but she sensed Mama and Papa. The audience drew in a breath.
Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here.