Innsmouth Horror, 8

“Stop right there, young man. Why are you not at school?”
 .
“Dunno, miss.”
 .
“And what is your name?”
 .
“James Blake, miss. My friends call me Jimbo. What’s yours?”
 .
“Cheeky! I am Ms. Hathaway. My friends call me Pattie. Tell me, Jimbo, what is it that you are holding?”
.
Jimbo held out a pebble. “This is my ‘chalk’; I use it to draw with. And what is that you are holding?”
 .
“Why, Jimbo, it’s my violin case. Have you not seen one before?”
 .
“A violin! Will you play somethin’ for me, Pattie, please!”
 .
“Ha! but how could I resist such an invitation?” Patrice unbuckled the case and took out her violin; her audience hunkered down, awaiting the performance with a look of rapt attention upon his face. She plucked the strings at first, just so as to tease the little boy, and then, majestically, swept the bow over the violin’s strings. The sound was beautiful and the double stopping perfection itself; it is the most exquisite music Patrice will ever play.
 .
“Pattie, that was wonderful, like thoughts inside a dream.”
 .
“Gosh! Jimbo, how eloquent, thank you.”
 .
He brought his knees together, farting loudly.
.
Patrice attempted to hold on to her elation; the rapturous smile upon her lips cracked ever so slightly.
 .
 .
 .
sl16-patricehathaway
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