One-syllable story

It has been ages since I've written anything remotely creative - once the quarter started, I had absolutely no time to write! So I figured now that finals are over, I should try my hand at a writing exercise or two.

I found an interesting prompt, which was to write a story using only one-syllable words. This was a lot more difficult than I thought it would be, and eventually it got to the point where I could not take my story where it needed to go without breaking the rule. So I did.

I figured an exercise is just a way to get your creative juices flowing anyway, so once you have an idea, why not just run with it?

Due to the limitations of the prompt, this is more of a sketch than a story, but here it is. I have discovered that I often have a single moment in time but keep shifting the context to it as I write the story. This one started out as fantasy, actually, with a prophetic gift and life depending on the continuous playing of music on some unknown magical planet. And well, look at how it ended up.

Infinity

            The last of the notes swelled and waned, and the room was still once more. The girl's hands shook. She brushed a tear from her face and bit back a scream as the salt from her tears sent a blade of pain through the cuts on her hands. The strings of the harp had not been kind to her.

            "Please," she croaked.

            "Once more," the man said, voice firm.

            "I can't. My hands..." She held them up for him to see the drops of blood.

            "You must! There is more at stake here than your hands!"

            The girl shrank back, as if she had been slapped. The man sighed and spoke again, his voice soft. "The strings of the harp dance for but a few, child; it is a gift. You need to hone your gift. You need to be the best. Don't you want to be the best?"

            The best. The words had meant so much to her - it was why she had trained so long, so hard - but now it seemed as though the price was more than she could pay. When was the last time she had smiled?

            But she could not stop now. He would not let her, not when she was so close. His star, he had called her. The one who would bring fame back to him. To let him down now...no, he would kill her first.

            She bent down and began to play once more. She knew she could not keep this up for much more time. She poured her soul in to each note, grew lost in the haze of sound. Her hands were rubbed raw, and each note carved deep red lines through them. Pain was her one link to the real world now.

***

            The notes flew from her hands, a whirl of sound so pure it brought tears to the man's eyes. This was more than he had dared dream. He closed his eyes, relishing the music.At that moment, she truly was the best. She was perfection. And she would be nothing without his training - she was merely the vessel through which his brilliant insight flowed through. Yes, he thought. This beauty, this perfection, it is mine.

            All of a sudden, the music stopped. The man's eyes snapped open. "What is the meaning of this?" he thundered. A pause. "Oh."

            The girl had slumped to the floor, her face pale against the deep red of her hands. And he knew without a doubt that she would never wake up.

            "Ah, well," he murmured, "Time to find another prodigy."