If I Were To Write A Piece Of Flash Fiction On A Pop Hit,

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“A black-and-white shot of an open music score on a stand” by Valentino Funghi on Unsplash

or, rather, The Perpetual Silver Bullet, I would make sure to leave the structure of the Pop Hit as quiet as possible and as invisible to the naked eye as it could be. I would want to see re-prints of the song leave karaoke machine participants thinking that the karaoke machine was broken. I would want a neighborhood cat to come quietly wandering through the audition room of American Idol with the judges failing to recognize that the song had passed them by as they were lost in the thrall of production notes and/or their phones. And yet I would want the guitar or violin to know it. I would want someone’s hands to land upon the instrument and know.

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