The bell had rung. The line had shut down. The place was empty. Artur did his rounds as he usually did. Securing doors, turning on alarms, unplugging the toaster. Then he’d sit and practice. Two hours every night without fail.
He was going to be a famous pianist one day. Go to school they said. “Vy you wanna verk een ah faktohree?” his mother would yell when he got home. They’ll see, he thought to himself as he strode over to the storage cages. But his piano was locked up, and there were packages inside, with his name on them.
Artur Rubenstein, also known as Arthur Rubenstein, was a famous pianist, born in Poland in 1887 while Poland was still a part of the Russian empire. He played the works of all the famous composers, and was regarded as one of the greatest pianists of the twentieth century. He had a passion for the piano and played his beloved instrument for eight decades. His father owned a textile factory.
Of course my flash fiction is just that, fiction. There were no toasters in his time. And his mother never yelled at him about working in a factory, as far as I know.
Go to Rochelle Wisoff’s Addicted to Purple site and use her Wednesday photo as a prompt to write a complete 100 word story for Friday Fictioneers.