If Music Be the Food of Love… – Friday Fictioneers

What happens when the music stops?

That’s the question that popped into my mind when I saw the picture this week. I hope my take is original, I do try, darlings.

What is this? Oh, right — Friday Fictioneers — every Wednesday, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields posts a picture and prompts participants to pick a perspective and pen a poem or piece of prose that portrays pickled peppers that Peter Piper picked… or, you know, something else, so long as it’s around 100 words. Rochelle’s really nice, and won’t chide you if you go over, but I think you’ll carry the shame personally for the rest of your natural life.

Feel free to read but not participate, but if you participate, it’s my opinion that you should do your best to read others’ work as well, but don’t feel bad if you don’t get to ALL of them — that’s quite a chore, and I confess I’ve only read every single one maybe 7 times out of 10.

But you can find them all HERE if you want to give it a whirl.

And now, without further ado about nothing except a Twelfth Night reference:


copyright rochelle wisoff-fields


“I’m starving,” she said, wiping a tear away.

Her husband wrung his hands but was silent.

“I used to hang on your every phrase, and you would linger over every note until I had my fill. There was nothing more delicious than an afternoon with you. But now…”

She paused and looked at his face, which she had kissed hungrily a thousand times until she was sated.

“Now I’m so hungry,” she said. “And all the music has gone quiet.”

“You didn’t always speak in metaphors,” he said, sadly sighing.

“You weren’t always so obtuse,” she replied, her passion dying.


100 words precisely.

Patricia from highfiveandraspberries’ story Keyboard Blues was wonderfully written and hilarious.


68 responses to “If Music Be the Food of Love… – Friday Fictioneers

  1. I guess it’s too late now to start a few variations on the theme; better to write it off as the day the music died and see if they can score elsewhere. I loved the voices in this – could almost hear them.

  2. Helena this was heart wrenching.Your voices were flawless and I truly know what it sounds like when the music dies.

    P.S. your intro was immensely delightful.

    • I’m delighted that I could so ‘stonish you, m’lady. Of course, MY name comes from neither Much Ado or Twelfth Night, but rather A Midsummer Night’s Dream, wherein Helena is one of the most talkative women in all of Shakespeare’s plays.
      Not that I bear any resemblance, darling!

  3. Dear Helena,

    This story is pitch perfect and impressively written. (And so very much a metaphor for my life.) It rings true and hits hard. (Cliche city, forgive me, but they’re cliches for a reason.) One of my favorites from you in a growing list of stories.



      • Dear Helena,

        All the reading of stories is done and through it all yours has remained ever on my mind. I came back to read it again and linger for a while. Very beautiful. Very sad.

        Superb, sublime writing. I shall be visiting here again.



  4. Hi Helena,
    When the music’s over, turn out the light- Jim Morrison. But don’t forget, the music is your special friend. I’m elated to know you’re also, like me, a love of the Bard, and that’s where your name came from. Ron

    • I also love the Doors, darling. If I had a genie and three wishes, one would be the ability to sing like either Jim Morrison or else Otis Redding. But then, I’ve got a better figure than either of those dead boys, so I guess I can’t complain.

  5. I was hungry before I read this. I’m ravenous now, having spent the last of my calorific energy groaning at all the puns. I will have to add another or feel ‘out of it’: I’m sad that their melody has become unchained. Clever dialogue. Yours not mine. I’m off to hunt down a raven now.

  6. I love the way your characters interact with each other, (in all your work) and it’s very apparent in this flash fiction that you are very accomplished at giving your character a soul, they feel alive to me.

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