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My Greatest Masterpiece Gifted To The World

My last song as I quietly retire from a thirty year musical career

By Colleen Millsteed Published 2 years ago Updated 10 months ago 7 min read
4
Image courtesy of Pixabay

I woke early this morning as I desperately felt the need to write, but here I sit yet again.

I’m at my writing desk, blank paper in front of me and a pen in hand. I sit staring out the window, looking for inspiration, but the words do not come.

What is wrong with me? Will I never write again? These thoughts torment me as I sit pleading with the Universe for that one last glorious song.

I need a new song or my fame will die. I’ve been a famous singer for the last thirty years and my music is starting to slip in the charts. I know I can’t be on top forever, but I do feel I have one last masterpiece in me.

The song to end all songs.

Continuing to stare out my window, my thoughts chaotic and my horror rising. Not even a word, let alone an entire song. I must write one more song!

I come up with a great idea for inspiration. One I’d not thought of before.

After Mum died, I packed up all her witchy bits and pieces, storing them in the attic. I remember she had some books she refused to part with. In fact one of them was handwritten in my mum’s sensuous handwriting.

I’ve never read it, so I’m not entirely sure what that book is about, maybe a personal journal?

I decide I’ll write my last great masterpiece about Mum or about something Mum treasured. Maybe that handwritten book will give me the inspiration I need.

With a little spritz of hope, I tear down the hall, pull down the attic ladder and climb up into the dusty, messy chaos and probably vermin nests but I have my mind set on finding that book.

The entire morning was spent going through box after box, until eventually I find the book I’m looking for. As I pick it up I feel a little tingle race up my arm. That tingle is the sure fire knowledge that somewhere in these pages, are the inspiration I’m looking for.

Image courtesy of Pixabay

Excitedly I hustle back to my desk and begin flicking through the pages. These look like poems of some sort, or they may be recipes — an eye of newt — what a queer ingredient. Oh look, this recipe wants the whiskers of a black cat and this one needs a high level demon’s blood. Strange, very strange, what was Mum planning to cook with all these weird ingredients?

Page after page until one particular recipe or poem grabs my eye. The title of this one, ‘The Fear Within, The Fear Without’. As I read through this page, inspiration suddenly strikes, and I find that my song practically writing itself.

This recipe is old, old as my mother was young,

The nubile hand moves across the page in flow,

A list of ingredients, not purchased at the local,

Scavenged from the dark alleys on the down low.

***

Oh Mother dear, what is this concoction for dinner,

What is it where you need a yellow eye of the newt,

A herb one hundred years old and a child’s scream,

But more importantly a frog and one dusty black boot?

***

This recipe is crazy and chaotic, oh mother of mine,

The narrative states it’ll take three days to fully cook,

A forever pot bubbling away like it’s a witches brew,

What an imagination, it’s just a recipe from your book.

***

Oh Mother dear, what is this concoction for dinner,

What is it where you need a yellow eye of the newt,

A herb one hundred years old and a child’s scream,

But more importantly a frog and one dusty black boot?

***

Day three and the world has stopped still to listen,

As the family is fed, the mewls of pleasure a roar,

Giggles and laughter from within, turning to howls,

As fear takes hold and they collapse to the floor.

***

Oh Mother dear, what is this concoction for dinner,

What is it where you need a yellow eye of the newt,

A herb one hundred years old and a child’s scream,

But more importantly a frog and one dusty blacked boot?

***

Oh Mother dear, what is this concoction for dinner,

What is it where you need a yellow eye of the newt,

A herb one hundred years old and a child’s scream,

But more importantly a frog and one dusty black boot?

My last song as I quietly retire from a thirty year musical career.

Oh, what a song. I just know it’s going to be a masterpiece. My best single ever!

I rush out the door, in a fervour of excitement that is near impossible to contain, heading to the recording studio, determined to record this single today.

Imagine my surprise and those of my team, when I managed to record this single in one take. I’m more convinced than ever that …. This …. Is …. My …. Greatest …. Masterpiece!

Image courtesy of Pixabay

Within weeks my single is flying off the shelves. The radio is playing it almost non stop. The nightclubs are getting request after request for my song, night after night.

It is loved by the young and old, male and female, crossing generation gaps and even music genres.

Oh, I’m so very happy. My one last song to the world and it’s a fitting end to my career.

It’s been two months since I released my single. I’m officially and happily retired. Loving life!

That is until I watched today’s 6pm newscast. Something horrifying is happening around the world. Crime is skyrocketing, on an unheard of crime spree. Suicides have suddenly spiked tenfold and people are killing their pets, believing them to be possessed by demons.

The entire world seems to have turned upside down.

Weeks, and weeks of chaos has ensued and it’s only getting worse. People are acting like zombies, insane and half dead.

The world’s normal population is cowering behind closed doors, the police forces are barricading themselves inside their stations and animals, both domesticated and wild, are fleeing civilised areas.

Nobody can make heads or tails of what is going on. Have these people been infected with a virus? Has there been an alien invasion and they are controlling these people?

The powers that be are digging into backgrounds of these criminals, trying to find the reason behind their traumatic war against society. Do they have an hereditary mental illness or have they caught a disease none of us have ever heard of?

I watch the devastation from the sidelines and I begin to wonder.

Hoards of teenagers, dressed to the nines as if they’re heading out for a night on the town, instead they are vandalising innocent peoples homes, stealing and murdering as they go along their way.

Another group is made up of middle aged mothers, who would usually be headed to the hair or nail salons, instead they are keying cars and stabbing tyres.

Men meeting to go on a dog hunt, killing family pets like they’re the wild animals they usually hunt.

I’ve no idea what is happening to the world. As much in the dark as everyone else.

I stand looking out my window, peering around the curtain, watching a particularly savage group of teenagers, as they drag a man from his home and begin to beat him to death.

Wait a minute, what is that noise?

Am I hearing things? Are they really all singing the chorus of my song?

Oh Mother dear, what is this concoction for dinner,

What is it where you need a yellow eye of the newt,

A herb one hundred years old and a child’s scream,

But more importantly a frog and one dusty black boot?

I race down the hall, drag down the attic ladder, scamper up and dig through the boxes until I find mum’s handwritten book. I study closely the front cover. The book is so old, the title is practically impossible to read. I can make out only one word, ‘Spells’.

I hastily flick through the pages until I find that one page. The one that inspired my song.

Oh no, this is not a recipe as I first thought. No, it’s a very, very old witches spell. Not just any spell either but one that will ensure anyone that listens to the words or any words relating too or mentioning this spell, to feel debilitating fear.

Fear so terrible that they are guaranteed to loose their minds. Fear that will totally take them over!

Oh dear, what have I done?

My song has turned every listener into a giant fear factory, until they have totally lost their mind. Turning them into chaos causing world hysteria takes over the reigns.

With my greatest masterpiece, I may have just caused the very end of the world!

Oh dear, I’ve certainly gone out with a bang!

If you liked my writing, please click on the small heart underneath, near my name. Or send me a tip and let me know you enjoyed it.

****

Please click the link below my name to read more of my work. I would also like to thank you for taking the time to read this today and for all your support.

If you enjoy this piece, you may enjoy this one too.

Originally posted on Medium

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About the Creator

Colleen Millsteed

My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.

Reader insights

Outstanding

Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!

Top insights

  1. Excellent storytelling

    Original narrative & well developed characters

  2. Heartfelt and relatable

    The story invoked strong personal emotions

  3. Compelling and original writing

    Creative use of language & vocab

  1. On-point and relevant

    Writing reflected the title & theme

  2. Expert insights and opinions

    Arguments were carefully researched and presented

  3. Easy to read and follow

    Well-structured & engaging content

  4. Eye opening

    Niche topic & fresh perspectives

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Comments (4)

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  • Kat Thorne2 years ago

    I loved this. Super creative! 😂

  • Loved this story! Reminded me of your Viral Masterpiece story. Sorry I can't remember the full title 😅 I loved the song you wrote in this story, it's quite catchy, I made up my own tune for it, lol. You did a fantastic job on this story!

  • What a beautiful story , as I read it Ný batterí by Sigur Ros was playing , seemed to go with the story https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TU9T3T2pmjQ

  • Cathy holmes2 years ago

    Oops. Lol that was great.

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