The Golden Chime

The concrete breezeway stretched out like a cavern. Cold draft. Total silence. Then, a target caught my eye. Beside a neighbor's metal doorframe hung a miniature set of polished brass chimes, dangling barely above the floor molding. Perfect height. I didn't hold back. Stepping in tight, I drew the wooden chopstick from my back and swung. Strike one—sharp, piercing ping. The tubes swung wild, clashing together in a roaring cascade of bright metallic ring. The echo bounced hard down the empty corridor. My kind of overture.