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Short stories for you to read with music. Setting the scene.

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Playing .....
Rachmaninov Vocalise [ Luca Sulic ]

I watched her from afar playing a melancholic tune on her violin. She held her brows in a knitted frown as she blushed away from the crowd that surrounded her.

Her music was profound, I thought as the bartender poured me another shot of whiskey. It seethed down my throat moving my heart to the depths of my pointless addiction .

I fell into the violinist compulsion, finding myself endeared by her just like the rest. Asking for another shot, I found the line growing steeper and steeper between my sanity.

"I'm due to die." I said grimly. The bartenders eyes softened before they set like stone on me, "That's a new one. You'll live." I frowned turning away to face the violinist.

The crowd was fading away as the room spun, but the woman still sat with her rubicund cheeks. She seemed to be almost processing her agony for a moment before she got up.

I fixed my hat to hide the stubble after the medication. Watching her in my peripheral, I thought of what to say before my thoughts fuddled.

Before I realized, she sat two chairs away from me. The world seemed to be gradually dispersing, then a tiny pleasant voice spoke up "Are you okay?" she asked.

I could feel my cheeks heat up, as I rested my hand on my cheek gazing upward at the wooden boards and webs surrounding them. "No. Are you?" I knew my words slurred, but she still was taken at having a conversation with me.

"No." She looked down and I thought for a moment, what her happy sound would be like.

I grabbed her forearm leading her to the stage sitting beside her, she puzzled and smiled confusingly.

I giggled, "I'm sorry, I didn't tell you." I opened my satchel, pulling out a sketchbook. "I may be drunk but I'm a poet."

She broke out into a laughter, holding her tummy it squeaked into my ears annoyingly, sounding albeit like a siren.

"That's your sketchbook poet." I blushed tucking it back in my bag, "I'm an artist too."

I pulled out my notepad and begun writing verse as she picked up her violin understanding my broken English luckily. Her tune changed a bit I noticed, it was lighter but still overwhelming.

"A thousand bars-
And saddened musicians
Another shot- " she peeked into my book at my drunken poetry, "quite straightforward." She volunteered herself, "A thousand bars and saddened musicians— artists gathering in taverns with sharded tongues they keep away from their empty homes."

I smiled, looking at my strapped heels. She was a funny and depressing woman. "You make me quite sad." I spoke frankly, taking her bow.

"Would it be cruel to say the same thing?" She said lightly with a nervous tone, "No." I said.

"My- we are both so awful." She whispered amusingly.

"Mary, the bars' shutting down in a few." She nodded her head at the bartender wiping down the counters.

I leaned on the stage, "we're closing in 5." She grabbed my arms pulling me up, we were too close, had I not been drunk I would've been tense.

I tucked her waves behind her ear, "I'm an awful poet." She nodded her head cluelessly revealing her dimples, "I'm a sad violinist."

She was very beautiful I thought, I found myself leaning closer to her lips before I stopped. She seemed to be getting red from what I could notice, I touched her cheek to digest her reaction before I kissed her.

The taste of her cocktail melted on my tongue, as I deepened it drunkenly. I pulled back, watching her dumbstruck reaction "For inspiration." I said grabbing my coat to prepare for the winter wind.

"Will you come in again?" She asked, as she watched me walk towards the door.

"See you again."

I leaned against the door as a taxi pulled up. Receiving a phone call, I picked up hearing my frantic butler. "The doctor wants you to come back NOW Casie."

I hung up, relaxing in the seat looking up at the stars. I fancied the violinist for sometime and the only time I could kiss her was when I was due to die, I scoffed "how poetic."

The taxi started on its drive, as I drew a picture of the violinist sitting with her nervous visage.

Goodbye. I sketched below her face, writing my name under it.
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