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On the 21st of April, this was the prompt for Microcosms Fiction.

Sadly, we lost one of the most creative and talented musicians on this day last year. Roger Nelson was born on 7 June 1958. He would later be known to the world as Prince.

“Prince was an American singer-songwriter, actor, multi-instrumentalist, philanthropist, dancer and record producer. He was a musical innovator who was known for his eclectic work, flamboyant stage presence, extravagant dress and makeup, and wide vocal range. His music integrates a wide variety of styles, including funk, rock, R&B, new wave, soul, psychedelia, and pop.” – Wikipedia

He was also a vegetarian, a quality that is near and dear to my heart.

I hope you enjoy this week’s prompts, which are inspired by both his music and personal life.

Our contest this week begins with THREE things: character, setting and genre.

We spun, and our three elements are – character: musician, setting: Alphabet Street, and genre: memoir.

The original prompt didn’t do much for me, so I clicked the spin button and got:

Singer/ in the (purple?) rain/ Crime

Here’s my entry.

The Muse

Ronel Janse van Vuuren


Performing in the club never got old. Though the rest of the band made plans for the big time, he was happy to just sing his songs. There’s a special kind of magic that happens when you can hear the music call and change as you sing. The others didn’t get it.

A fine drizzle was cleaning the alley of its usual heaps of ash, cigarette butts and oppressive smoke. It was almost easy to breathe.

Malcolm could hear a new song forming, another one involving his muse. Closing his eyes, he listened as it slowly played in his head.

Sounds untrue to his song interrupted his enjoyment of the moment and his eyes snapped open. The light had disappeared and the alley was dark. The drizzle had turned into a steady downpour, though getting soaked didn’t bother him – even his fans would think that it was just a stage-gimmick.

Everything turned purple as three men in leather jackets rushed past him, all carrying bags that didn’t match their look, and scaled the wall to whatever lay above the club.

As the pain spread from his abdomen, he was sure he could see Amy watching him where she stood in the purple rain before she disappeared. Malcolm sank to the ground, the music swelling within him before the door slammed open next to him and everything went black.

I listened to the version of “Purple Rain” on the “Ultimate Prince” album while writing this. The judge’s favourite line: There’s a special kind of magic that happens when you can hear the music call and change as you sing.

I’ve watched Autumn Rush a couple of weeks ago and it inspired me with the way music fills the world. (A brilliant movie, BTW.)

What do you think about the story? Do you like music?

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