The melody comes to me in my dreams. It haunts my memories when I wake, so I take out my flute and set to learning it.
Where did I first hear it? My memories are filled with only water. Even the flute – golden as it is, and my only possession – is a mystery; but the melody suits it well. When I play it I think of moonlight and waves, and of yearning.
When I dream of the water, I think there is someone waiting for me.
When I raise the flute to my lips, I pray they’ll hear my song.
Written for Flash Fiction Month 2018, day 23. This year I'm also fulfilling a challenge by an anonymous contributor - every character must be queer (I posit there is sufficient textual evidence to prove the narrator is bi) - as well as one by Teague-Drydan: At least half of the month needs to be fairy tale re-writes. Bonus if they aren't well known fairy tales. Fairy tale count: 12/16.