It is lifted away from the others and cradled. It is comfortable. One hand gently closes around its slender neck. Fingers press, politely adjusting the selected strings to the desired pitch, while the other hand strums once. It agrees. The hand strums more. An understanding begins.
Chords are chosen in the most workable sequences. These are the hands of one who will become a master.
Suddenly a new hand – fingers much smaller; yanking, slapping disrespectfully at the strings, but they are corrected by the good hands.
It is introduced to a world of swirling kilts, jingling spurs and twisting hips, and even as the fingers swell, reach less or clip the wrong string accidentally, it forgives. As always, after each session, it is carefully zipped into its cover to rest and wait for their next collaboration. It is never forgotten.
When it is lifted again, the arms are different. The hands are different. It recognises the hands that previously disrupted the harmony, though they are bigger now. They pick at each string, testing for the correct sound; cautious, naïve but trying.
After it is replaced in its cover, zipped into darkness and laid down, it rests in a melodic awareness of the music that once coursed through its body, still refusing to leave; gifts of song that make its tin quiver in a tingling recognition, giving comfort and assurance that it will never be forgotten.
Andrew Newall lives near Falkirk in Scotland and writes short fiction in his spare time. Good Vibrations is his latest piece. Recently, he had flash fiction published by Bright Flash Literary Review and Flash Fiction North magazine with more work upcoming in Dark Dossier magazine. He also enjoys comic art and is currently working on a storyboard for the short film Hidden filming this year.