For over a decade, Marko and his cello seemed never to be seen one without the other; as if they shared a bond somehow more intimate than a musician to his instrument. When queried as to their inseparability, the virtuoso would only respond with an enigmatic smile.
On the train that day Marko seemed locked in a heated conversation with, of all things, his cello. As the train pulled out, the case vanished only to appear beyond his reach on the uncrowded platform.
Below his frenzied shouts, a sad feminine voice spoke. “No more tours, my beloved. I am tired. I am going home.”
This story was written for the weekly Visual Dare flash fiction photo prompt.