The moment Susan heard the man in the dark shades play, she knew was the best guitarist that had ever lived. Each string seemed to come alive as his gloved fingers brushed across it. Everyone else in the crowded bar seemed to become nothing more than wallpaper. Their loud, drunken conversations faded away, as though the volume had been turned down to almost nothing.
It was as if it was just him, her, and the music. It called to her, begged her to draw near. She did, her feet moving without command. Like a puppet on a string, she was pulled in.
Then she saw the fire – orange-red, sun-bright, summer-warm. It burnt in the reflections on the guitar and in the dark glasses that hid the man’s eyes. It was like wildfire.
As he smiled, she knew that it would burn her and that she couldn’t break away.
This is my entry for this week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and pixabay.com for the photo prompt.