“But it’s a real Scarampella, I played Dvorak’s cello concerto with Toscanini once”.
Jozef thumbed his moth-eaten hat, humbling himself for the meaty pawnbroker. If he closed his eyes he could still see the audience applauding
“I don’t give damn mister, for me it doesn’t matter if it’s accordion or cello, I’ll give you hundred Marks”.
Grinning he knew there was a buyer waiting who would pay a hundred times more. He followed Jozef’s gaze through the window and studied the streets glistening with broken glass.
“If you hurry you can still make it to Zürich. You’re not German anymore” .
I love the extra challenge of writing to my own picture, I actually find it more challenging because I know the place. I think we need reminding of what can come next. The past is not now, but hatred can be the same. For a historical reference read more here.
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields select a picture every week and challenge us to write a hundred words of fiction for it. This is what I came up with.
November 16, 2016