We always knew that playing a concert in that war torn country would be a risk. Our group came under fire on the last night as we made our way back to the hotel. I was unlucky. Wrong place at the wrong time. The bullet narrowly missed my neck but buried itself in my ribs. Nothing fatal, but the damage caused was enough to put an untimely end to what was destined to be a glittering career. I now sit in one of the practice rooms. A spare instrument for students to practice on and young children to play with.
A 100 word story for this week’s prompt from Friday Fictioneers.