Yasmin Russell Little Flautist
Short Story
HIGHLY COMMENDED RAW LITERATURE PRIZE 2022 The man, in his older years now, awakened to a quiet knock. He’d fallen asleep on his chair again, a worn shoe half laced, as he’d been meaning to head out somewhere. Rubbing away the sleep from his eye, he kicked off his shoes and made his way through the dark towards the wooden door. He did not have time for idle conversation with Mrs Trellimar, who often stopped by unannounced, and was only welcome to his small home if she brought that sweetened bread he adored. He swung the door open, light spilling in from a lit lantern held up in one hand by a young girl, cross-legged on the step, milky white eyes looking up towards him. Unseeing. Cesil. ‘I must ask you to teach me, Jesp, please?’ Jesp glanced down at the young girl, sitting patiently. ‘You must be specific, girl,’ he snapped, before regretting his harshness. Cesil had already gone through so much as she was delivered into the world. She did not deserve his aggression. ‘Before, in the square for the celebration, I heard a wondrous sound amidst the chatter. I had to know what it was. I have heard so many sounds, but this one was different. It sounded mournful. It sounded beautiful. What I am trying to say is that I have heard your song through your walls. I wish to be capable of performing it too.’ Jesp waited a moment, noting Cesil’s ragged hair, but neat dress, and the many bruises along her scrawny legs. He had played that song, written by his long past lover, on the festival day each year. It was a sad song, as the lover had been a saddened man, but to his ear, it was the sound of angels singing. He’d never been a religious man, but often spoke of how his lover would have bested even the best of angels. His small, cosy abode creaked as he stepped forward, helping her up and into the warmth. ‘It is not an easy skill for those who have the privilege of sight, dear. I’m not so sure that you will ever learn to be as skilled,’ Jesp stated, walking across the room to open a cabinet. Dust fell to the ground with the unexpected movement, as he reached toward the back for an old, wooden instrument. ‘However, what one doesn’t possess in one aspect, they may make up for in others. This instrument is called a flute.’ 22
