In our quest to encourage creativity, we post a writing prompt every other Friday. Write a story with the prompt as the first line. Share your story below or on social media using the tag #FirstLineFriday. We can’t wait to see your stories!
“The music floated through the air.”
The music floated through the air. “Almost like bathwater,” mused Carrie-Ann as she cleaned and set up her trumpet, affectionately named Gladys, while listening to the performers outside. Carrie-Ann knew a little something about music: Two nights ago, she’d played her best gig yet at the Soulful Glade. Standing ovation, money hat filled with enough moolah for a burrito, the works. Tonight, she was at the new nightclub Crow’s Perch. Grandpappy would have had a fit about the name. “Crows are bad luck!” he’d wheeze. But money was never bad luck. She blew a few practice notes into Gladys and watched the notes twist seamlessly in the air.
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