The Bard's Heirloom - InkSpot.Com

JOSE GERVIC LABE, JR.

Daily Flash Fiction

#1063225 added January 31, 2024 at 8:44am
Restrictions: None

The Bard's Heirloom

The storm raged outside, mirroring the dying bard's struggle. Conrad, his voice ragged, held out a worn lute. "My voice, son," he rasped. "Take it, and the songs will live on."

Norman, his son, recoiled. "I don't want anything to do with it," he spat, years of resentment bubbling up. "Music brought you nothing but pain."

Conrad's eyes, the color of a stormy sea, dimmed. "Pain? It brought me life, Norman. It held the stories of our ancestors, the magic woven into their laughter and tears."

Norman scoffed. "Magic? You used to call it madness, Dad. Remember the whispers, the fear? You almost lost everything."

Conrad's grip faltered, the lute slipping. Norman caught it instinctively. As his fingers touched the wood, warmth bloomed, memories flooding his mind. He saw his father, young and vibrant, his music weaving magic. He saw his mother, her laughter echoing in the melodies.

Tears welled in Norman's eyes. "I... I don't understand it," he whispered.

Conrad smiled weakly. "Just listen. The songs will whisper their secrets, guide you home."

Norman closed his eyes, the warmth of the lute filling him. He heard his father's voice, faint but clear, singing of courage and hope.

When he opened his eyes, the storm had passed. A single star shone brightly. Norman looked at the lute, no longer an object of fear, but a bridge to his legacy. He wouldn't be his father, but he wouldn't let the songs die. He would find his own voice, and carry the magic forward.

He strummed a single note, the sound hesitant but clear. The room filled with a soft light, and a smile bloomed on Conrad's face, a final echo of the music that would forever live on.

WORD COUNT: 287 Words
WRITTEN FOR: "Winner for 1/30 and prompt for 1/31"

PROMPT: Write a story that includes the line: “I don’t want anything to do with it.”

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