A musician's life

"Just shut up and stay inside the violin."

I ran a hand through my dark hair, my lips tugging up despite my anger. That’s something I never thought I’d say. Then again, who thinks they'd ever say anything to a demon?

The creature in question sat by the windowsill, combing her slender fingers though her frizzy blonde hair. Contrary to popular belief, the woman looked more like she'd stepped out of Toni and Guy rather than the Twilight zone. She was tan, a little extra on the curves and had ivy green eyes - both of which were staring daggers at me. I didn't mind too much - that last part was in the job description after marriage.

Yes. I did say the monster’s my wife.

No. I am not insane - I had myself tested.

"You take me for granted so often." My better half - just a formality at this point - screeched. "You think you can just order me around and talk to me like that, you useless, good for nothing, penniless, empty handed -"

It went on for a while. Thankfully, the ancient being didn’t know that earplugs were invented. Acting borderline shameful for being a useless something-or-other, I went about my work. I tucked the violin into its case, silently cursing it to the deepest, darkest pit in purgatory.

The oh-so-happy state of my life was, of course, due to Mr. Stradivarius.

Like any musician worth his salt, I have a complicated past. See, I used to be rich, famous and handsome (I like to imagine still am). I used to travel the world, meet beautiful women and – in short, have a perfect life.

So how did I go from that to living in a 12-dollar flat?

Well, it’s quite simple.

I finally found the Holy Grail of my art. I bought a Stradivarius violin that just happened to be inhabited by a demon who I fell in love with. Soon after that, I put a ring on her finger and the rest is history. Like all good wives, she began following me to my performances and screeching at me there, costing me my fame and a truckload of money.

My current life is a lot simpler, I think.

Bicker with me dearest, play my damned violin on the street and hope that the audience likes Mozart accompanied by high-pitched squealing.

"…vile, twisted, son of a man." The demon finally finished, breathing heavily.

"Okay, I’ve about had it with you." I said. My patience had an expiry date of about two minutes on a good day. Reminiscing obviously wasn't doing it wonders. "Get in the violin or -"

"Or what?" She challenged.

"Or- or-" Suddenly, I had a brilliant idea. "Or I'm filing for divorce."

My dear wife smiled sweetly, showcasing her not-so-pearly whites.

"Sure, honey. Let's find an attorney who can see monsters and we'll call it a deal breaker."