Tour Stop: Silent Song Excerpt

Today I am lucky enough to present an excerpt from Silent Song by Ron C. Nieto. Enjoy :)




When I approached the pit, I frowned. In spite of Professor Hedford’s comment, he was still playing the same tune, his fingers dancing over the strings like lightning. He didn’t look like the last time I had seen him in his room, though. This time, he stared ahead, away from the stage, not even paying attention to the notes he was picking, and his expression was blank.

“Keith?”

When he didn’t reply, I moved in front of him and waved a hand in front of his eyes. The situation reminded me eerily of Saturday afternoon, when I had gone to his house with the chocolate cake and he’d been absorbed in his music. This time, retreat didn’t cross my mind, even though he didn’t react to my presence, and I had a sudden urge to just turn my back and leave him to his practice.

“Keith, I’m trying to talk to you,” I said, tapping his shoulder. I gasped. Under his shirt, his shoulder muscles were so taut they trembled.

“What the hell?” I blurted.

Finally, the notes fell out of place and he gasped, jumping in surprise. Slinging off the guitar, he left it propped against the pit’s wall and took a couple of steps back, massaging his temples.

“Sorry,” he said, sounding drained. “I don’t know what happened there.”When I approached the pit, I frowned. In spite of Professor Hedford’s comment, he was still playing the same tune, his fingers dancing over the strings like lightning. He didn’t look like the last time I had seen him in his room, though. This time, he stared ahead, away from the stage, not even paying attention to the notes he was picking, and his expression was blank.

“Keith?”

When he didn’t reply, I moved in front of him and waved a hand in front of his eyes. The situation reminded me eerily of Saturday afternoon, when I had gone to his house with the chocolate cake and he’d been absorbed in his music. This time, retreat didn’t cross my mind, even though he didn’t react to my presence, and I had a sudden urge to just turn my back and leave him to his practice.

“Keith, I’m trying to talk to you,” I said, tapping his shoulder. I gasped. Under his shirt, his shoulder muscles were so taut they trembled.

“What the hell?” I blurted.

Finally, the notes fell out of place and he gasped, jumping in surprise. Slinging off the guitar, he left it propped against the pit’s wall and took a couple of steps back, massaging his temples.

“Sorry,” he said, sounding drained. “I don’t know what happened there.”