Littlest Violin Novels & Stories

Andrew initially thought he was a girl—around six or seven years old, hugging a dark red violin that seemed too big for a kid his age. However, when the little boy played his violin, Mr. Andrew was stunned. He knew right away that this little boy could be called a 'prodigy' in his violin playing. Such a small child, with an oversized violin, but playing the violin not only with perfect technique, but the way to play is charming. There is no second to none, especially for such a small child!

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my cool, I was trying to hold back my anger, but it was like a dam about to burst. Something was restraining me, preventing me from stepping forward and unleashing my emotions. Just as I was about to snap, a chocolate bar sailed through the air, catching everyone's attention. We all turned to see Arlo seated, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Well, well, well," he said, his voice dripping with amusement. "That's a show." His face was a picture of innocence, but his eyes betrayed his true intentions. What was he trying to do?

It was enormous, yeah that's the world for its obviously too large room that seems to have every single musical instrument. If only I could play. It was our music period and one of my classmates, Gabriella, easily the prettiest girl I've ever seen was playing the violin. She looked a little like Sophia but instead of Sophia's wild beauty, hers had some kind of innocence to it. My other classmates were doing one thing or the other. I only sat on a low stool, openly gawking at the interior of the music studio. I sincerely don't think up to ten schools can have this kind of music studio.

She had never heard it but she was thrilled to try it. She studied the notes for five minutes before lifting the instrument and sliding the bow over the strings. Her fingers danced up and down the neck of the violin. The music hit her heart. It began as a sad melody, sped up to a happy tune, then dropped back to a slow, angry sound. It seemed like a battle between two violins. One violin was determined to be sad and then happy while the other was determined to be angry and excited. Even though she messed up, she continued determined to see what won the war.

For a moment, I felt that putting a diamond ring on her finger wouldn't be such a bad idea. … After Cole fell asleep, Victoria quietly got up and headed to the basement. The dim room was filled with a foul, rotting stench. On the floor lay two figures—none other than the missing Carrie and Gabe. Admiring her freshly done nails, Victoria gave a casual command, "Begin." Two people stepped forward with tools in hand. Soon, the basement echoed with screams. Carrie and Gabe were subjected to inhuman torment, passing out from the pain, only to be splashed awake with cold water and dragged into another round of suffering.

“Princess Tara.” She noticed my violin. “Do you… know how to play?” “Yes,” I said with quiet confidence. She hesitated. Then whispered the words that knocked the air out of me. “Can you… play something for me?” Yes, I could. And there was nothing I would refuse her. I lifted the violin, set it on my shoulder, and asked, “What do you want to hear?” She answered fast. “Carol of the Bells.” Easy. I began to play.

Lia sat cross-legged on the cold, hard floor of her room, her back pressed against the wall as she stared at the small wooden box that had been left in the corner of the room. It was tucked in a way that she had never noticed before, hidden just behind the chair that Vincent sometimes used to sit in while he watched her. She had grown used to the small details of her captivity, the corners of the room, the angles of light through the barred window, the sound of the door creaking open every time he brought her food.

I hurry out of the house before I lose control of Roy. As the cab drives away I see Nikki’s little face peer out of the curtains, tear-streaked and wailing her poor little heart out. (Trevor P.O.V) “Nikki? Come on Little Luna, come eat your dinner. It’s mac and cheese, your favourite,” I tell her.

Drowning in the billows of fragrant blossoms, Little Wells looked lovely and peaceful. She was dispatched here after the decisive rout of Wulfstan troops on the Western front. After the years of blood, mud, screams of the wounded and cursing of the dying, the post of a rural nurse, responsible for the new clinic opening in the village, was as close to paradise as she could imagine. Then Alex, Krasnov’s cousin, came back—half of his right leg missing and his brown hair gray—but alive.

I grinned, “Sure mom.” “Dinner is in the oven,” she picked up her lesson books, “Sadly we won’t be done for dinner so please eat without us.” I shook my head, “Ok.” She blew a kiss and left, I slouched my shoulders and headed to my room. Even though she said she’d talk to him again… I knew she wasn’t going to, she never does. I closed my door and placed my violin in the closet along with my other three instruments, which included a flute, a cello, and a small piano. I changed into my black satin pajamas then snatched up my diary from my desk and plopped on my bed, opening my ice cream bar I began to write: