Mat looked at the old cello, which had been the source of his upbringing all these years. His father, a mute cello player, played the instrument at every gathering and occasion to give the best for his young children. Old age had cursed him with paralysis and he lay in his small room all day and night, staring at the worn-out cello.
Mat wiped his eyes at the memory of his father. He tugged at the strings and felt that he had never repaid his father. At forty, he decided that he would learn to play the cello.
This was written for Friday Fictioneers. Picture by Roger Cohen.