Photo credit: apintogsphotos via Visual hunt / CC BY-NC-ND

“Go practice,” Mother repeated.

“I’ll do it later.”

“No. Now.”

“But…”

Mother’s face was stern as she pointed to the bedroom where the trombone waited.

The door slammed followed by an angry blast from the instrument. Mother sighed as strains of practice music filtered through the closed door. She picked up her book, searching for where she had left off. As she began reading, a sour note jolted her from the passage.

The playing stopped. When it resumed, she returned to her book until the same note stopped her again. Time after time, the same sour note grated at her. Throwing the book on the chair, she headed to the bedroom and flung open the door.

“What in the world…” her voice trailed off as she glanced around the room.

The trombone lay on the bed while music filled the air. Her darling child, was playing a video game.

“Where is that music coming from?”

A finger pointed to a cell phone.

She snatched it from the desk.

“You really need to practice. You can’t get this note right,” she pointed at the phone just as the offensive note was repeated. She left the room and trombone practice finally began.

____________________________________

Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer