Greetings and good morning to all my dear friends in this wonderful community and in the hive in general. I hope you're having a wonderful Thursday filled with blessings. Today I want to bring you a new story. The truth is, I really enjoy creating them; I believe each Rising Star card is a world unto itself, and there are many options for creating an interesting story.

In today's story, I've chosen E138 Florence for today's story. As you'll see, she faces several dilemmas about her life as a flutist and music in general. I hope you like it. Let's begin.

You see, friends, this story begins when Florence was in her apartment, struggling with a modern flute piece that drove her crazy. It was a jumble of notes that made no sense, and she just thought it was boring, saying, "Who writes this garbage?" Don't judge her; she's more attracted to classical songs than modern ones. But she wanted to adapt to the new. She was about to give up when her cat, Mittens, decided it was the perfect moment to jump up on the table and send all the sheet music flying to the floor. She said, "Damn it," Mittens said, half angry, half laughing. The cat gave her that "not my problem" look and calmly walked away. She sighed deeply, bent down to clean up the mess, and thought, "Well, maybe this is a sign to stop torturing myself."

Just at that moment, the phone rang. It was Tom, her weird friend who was always getting into strange trouble. "Hey, Flo, are you stopping by the theater? We're restoring an old one and need someone to play something decent to impress some sponsors." Florence wasn't exactly flush with cash, so she accepted the challenge. "Anything's better than this," she thought as she looked at the scattered scores.

A couple of days later, there she was, at the theater. She played the little gig they asked her to and then stayed a while to watch the work they were doing at the theater. "This is worse than practicing," she muttered to herself. Fed up with all the boxes and cobwebs, she decided to do a little snooping. In a dark corner, she stumbled—literally—on an old box that looked like it had been there for centuries. She opened it curiously and found a pile of yellowed, dusty sheet music. What the heck is this? she wondered. She read a name in the corner: Harold something-or-other. "Probably an amateur no one knows," she thought, but something got her curious, and she took a few home—with Tom's permission, of course; she wasn't going to steal them.

Back in her apartment, she spread the sheet music on the table, and the old smell hit her so hard she sneezed. She grabbed her flute and tried playing one of the pieces, half-expecting it to be a disaster. But, to her surprise, it sounded incredible. It was as if the notes were telling something, something with soul. "Wow, this is really good," she said. Even though there was no one there but Mittens to hear it. She Googled Harold and found he was a local composer, a talented young man who had died in an accident many years ago. How sad, she thought, feeling a lump in her throat. This deserves someone to hear it. The problem was that Florence already had her band, and not exactly time to spare. Her bandmates weren't very happy.

One afternoon, Mike, the drummer, blurted out, "Flo, you've missed two rehearsals already, what's wrong with you?" She offered a half-hearted apology: "Sorry, I'm just hooked on this music." Mike said, "Well, fix it, or we'll find another flutist." That hurt her, but she thought, "Maybe I can do both." Although, in truth, she wasn't so sure. Still, she decided to organize a small recital at the theater. She invited a few friends and some music freaks she found on a Facebook group. She practiced like crazy, but things didn't go well: in a fit of rage at not being able to play a note, she broke a key off the flute. Great, just what I needed, she grunted, gluing it back on with some superglue. It was a bit crooked, but she thought, "Oh, it'll have to do."

The night before the recital, she barely slept a wink. She was so nervous that she paced around the apartment thinking: What if no one comes? What if everyone hates music? To top it all off, on the day of the event, she left in such a hurry that she forgot her flute at home and had to run back to get it. When she arrived at the theater, she saw that only about 20 people had arrived. "Well, it's not so bad," she told herself, trying to cheer herself up. She started playing, and everything was going more or less well until, in the middle of a piece, the power went out for a second. Florence stumbled on a note and almost dropped her flute, but she carried on as if nothing had happened, red-faced with embarrassment.

When she finished, the audience liked it despite all the setbacks. An older gentleman approached and said, "I remember Harold; he was a good composer. I'm glad someone is playing his music again." A woman asked if she had any recordings, and Florence thought, "Hmm, that wouldn't be a bad idea."

That night, back home, she collapsed on the couch with a glass of wine. She was exhausted, but happy. She went through more of Harold's scores, still scattered on the table, and played one more piece, slowly, and it was even better than the previous one she'd played. So, at that moment, she made a life-changing decision: she decided to replay all the lost songs in the theater so people wouldn't forget the great composers who had been forgotten. She knew it would be expensive, and perhaps even more difficult in other ways, but she couldn't live with the idea of ​​leaving good musicians forgotten. This is where her story of saving the legacy of others practically begins.

Dear friends, I hope you enjoyed today's story. If so, please leave your thoughts in the comments if you'd like. I'd be happy to read them. If you'd like, I can write a sequel to this story and continue with what Florence does next. Then I'll see you soon with more. Have a nice day.

Join hive's most incredible game, Rising Star , today.

Don't miss the opportunity to become a Rising Star.