My Sweet Angel

Posted: February 4, 2014 by writingsprint in Fantasy, Lost Angel
Tags: , , , , , , ,

strange fluteThe flute music danced into Angelina’s ears. She stopped walking. It sounded happy, like children playing. She thought of Pan flutes, too. Angelina put down her grocery bags and massaged her hands as she looked for the source. Saturday was grocery day, and she had four bags loaded down with food for the week. Her shoulders were killing her.

She didn’t see anyone with a flute. Buskers usually hung out on the fringes of the park, not the middle, where they could get cross-traffic from business people on lunch. She was in the middle of the park, near the fountain.

A trio of kids ran past her. One had a happy birthday balloon tied around his wrist. They chased each other around the fountain, laughing and dancing in time with the music.

Angelina hefted her bags. She didn’t have all day. She was about to say the hell with it when she saw him. The flute player sat on the wall behind the lion’s mouth that poured water into the fountain. He straddled the lion statue, a pose that Tarzan might have taken if he’d ridden the king of the beasts.

The bags came back down, without Angelina even thinking about it. “How… bizarre…,” she said. The flutist looked to be about six foot two – it was hard to tell with him sitting down, from far away – with long, brown dreadlocks hair that reached past his shoulders, long fingers, and black, horn-rimmed sunglasses with round frames. He wore a snake mottled with brown and tan diamonds on his shoulders that slithered and sniffed at the air. He seemed mesmerized by his music, or at least really into it. His fingers danced like the feet of mad Cossacks on his instrument. The tune livened up, drawing Angelina’s interest.

She couldn’t be too long. She had milk and other stuff that would go bad. Angelina walked over to the fountain and stood in front of the flute player. He left a crocheted red and yellow cap next to him on the wall where people had dropped ones, spare change, and a flyer for a church prayer meeting.

Without thinking about it, Angelina dropped a five into his cap. The flutist bowed his head. He changed tunes to something more funky. It was less peppy, more funky. Angelina frowned. She’d heard it before. Maybe Hendrix.

She nodded her head in time with the music. The words came to her. She murmured, “Fly on my sweet angel… fly on through the sky…” The flutist smiled and nodded. Angelina grinned. She sang louder, “Fly on my sweet angel… forever I will be by your side.”

He finished his song, put down his flute and clapped.

  1. paddlin_bill says:

    I got a lot of imagery from this one. I like that the audience became the performer, and the balloon tied to the child’s wrist. And that there appeared to be no bias against the busker, who, to me, was odd, even for a busker.


  2. A.D. Everard says:

    Nice one. Good clear visuals – and touch (I could feel her aching shoulder and the heavy shopping bags). 🙂


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