Bistro Fada-⭐️

A Story by ⭐️

This is a short story I wrote while listening to a song called Bistro Fada by Stpenane Wrembrel. If you would like to listen along with the story, play the song when reading the 7th sentence. Enjoy 🤗

A woman walks down the street towards her apartment. She walks with strained professionalism, allowing small glimpses of her insecurities and false confidence shine through. In her hand, she holds a heavy briefcase filled with papers she pretends to care about in her daily work. With her other hand, she smooths out her stiff blazer.

It is getting dark now and with each click of her heels, the sun sets a fraction of a bit faster. The woman is approaching an alley way. Through the alley, the faintest strum of a guitar is heard. So lost in negativity, she is unaware of the several other guitars joining in the tune. The music gradually picks up pace and sound, the alleyway gradually gets closer, the woman gradually begins to walk at the speed of the music. Her heels now click to the beat of the drum hiding in the back of the sound. Against the briefcase, her fingers tap along to the song and her mind wanders to thoughts of the ivy covered barn from her childhood, and of memories of meeting friends at smoky French cafes.

The music gains speed and so does she. Her briefcase swinging with her body as she dances. She finishes by running to the opening of the alleyway, the music now so alive it is almost tangible.

A pause, a thud as her suitcase hits the ground, and the woman runs to the pace the instruments have now reached. Her shoes slip off her feet and she throws off her blazer. An intense desire, a fire in her heart tells her to keep running, to reach the music. The guitars reach maximum volume stringing together into a single harmony as she throws her body around the corner, gasping for air.

She is met with a wall. A bright light flickers from her eyes. The life that ran through her body slowly fades out. But she hears one final note.

Turning around she sees a guitar. A wooden instrument painted delicately with designs of music notes. She gingerly lifts the guitar and walks home. Not blinking an eye at her shoes on the ground or her briefcase and its papers strewn on the ground. She holds the instrument to her heart as the sun finally sets. And she smiles.