#ThursThread - The Mourningstar

Today is Thursday, so it means an entry into Siobhan Muir's #ThursThreads weekly flash fiction contest. I'm continuing the story that I've been picking at and finally decided on the name. Instead of the Man in Mourning, I decided on The Mourningstar. It seems more catchy and more fitting. I also received another honorable mention last week with some really awesome comments from the judge. 

I also had some great conversations this week with a writer friend who had some great advice to help me with my writing. I find myself re-invigorated and looking at my writing in a different light then before - just looking at it differently and being able to make edits that the stories flow better and draw the reader in more. 

For the flash fiction contest, you can see all the other entries on Siobhan's blog here.

This week's prompt:

"She's missing."

And without any further ado - my entry for the week: 

    The preparations for her celebration of life continued around him. Calling it a celebration felt like a punch in the gut. He answered questions when they were posed to him robotically, barely remembering his responses as soon as he uttered them. Except when they asked about music. There would be no pre-recorded music played through speakers to fill the background noise. No, he would play one final time for his love.

     Alone again, he sat at his beloved Steinway and let the music flow through him as his hands swept up and down the keyboard. He played familiar songs, some of her favorites, then segued into something new but never to be heard again. The music discordant and melancholy echoing his emotions.

    His cell phone vibrated across the top of the piano, distracting him. He answered blindly, then stood abruptly, pushing the piano bench back with a screech. “What do you mean, she’s missing? How do you misplace a body?”

    The answer he received infuriated him more. “That’s my wife you lost, you incompetent imbecile! Find her!” He threw his phone across the room, not caring that it broke on impact.

    Pent up full of fury, he roughly grabbed his bottle of whisky. As he turned to the balcony, the decanter slipped from his fingers, shattering on the ground. The expensive Macallan splashed over his shoes and pantlegs, but he paid it no mind. 

    She was staring back at him from the other side of the balcony door.

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If you want to check out my previous entries into this story, read my prior blog entries for the past several weeks (basically ALL the blog posts for 2024).

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The #Mourningstar drabbles are based on the Lucifer TV show. While my story is original and divergent from canon, I am playing in another creator's sandbox.