Record Player

The sound is sweet, the music plays in the distance, pure instrumental. No one can seem to place where its coming from. Its far away, down the long stretch of road cutting through what seems to be nothing but open land and long stretch of beach. Mist hangs thick in the crisp air of the night... in the distance - lights... lights from a small house.
The house stands on the beach overlooking the sea, all alone and vulnerable. At the door is a knock... no answer... the music has stopped and turned to a slight crackle. The door is slightly open, cigarette in the ashtray, a thin smoke trail floating up into the sad atmosphere. On the table stands the guilty party for the once sweet music and now subtle sound of crackling - a record player.
A lady steps out of the bedroom, brushing her hair... eyes red and filled with sorrow, she'd been crying. She turns and peers out the sliding door, nothings changed, a misty, sad view of nothing. She turns to the man and looks into his eyes... his eyes silent - unbearably silent. She kisses him... he touches her soft lips and slips away into the darkness. She falls to her knees crying and pleading for her love to come back. He cant... crackling fills the room, surrounding, strangling, suffocating her and everything else - the record player... the last thing he ever gave her.