The tension in the room became palpable as the lights were dimmed and the guitarists started to pluck their guitars. Even before Amália started to sing, tears rolled down Maria’s cheeks. The strings of her heart vibrated to the familiar tune, and she hummed silently, just like every evening.
It was here she and Paolo tied their bonds. It was here they had dissolved into dreams. It was here she had found him mesmerized in his vinho verde, It was here he met his fate. Their story was like one of Amália’s songs, where the last verse still remained unwritten.
So fun to be back again finding one of my pictures again, I have been in the wilderness for a week and just came back. I took the picture it in a small tavern in Funchal (Madeira), where they performed fado every night. Listening to the songs in the velvet night is a quite a memory.
Friday Fictioneers is a group of bloggers under the leadership of Rochelle Wissoff-Fields who write stories
Friday Fictioneers is a group of bloggers who every week write 100 word stories to the same picture.
April 23, 2014