100 words: ukulele

[viking_cat]

You know the drill (and if you don't, please scan down to previous 100 words.)  100 word short story using the word or object "ukulele". I love the music. I even love how it sounds when spoken. Now I want to read about it!

Post it in the comments, and new participants welcomed.

Comments

After the Game

[darth_laura]

The crowd undulated, sweating and screaming, tears streaming down faces, hands reaching toward the stage. Despite the amped up mikes, it was almost impossible to hear the music over the fans. As the set wound down, the screams and cries resolved into one shout: “Youk! Youk! Youk!” The former Red Sox first baseman grinned as he pulled out his signature instrument and began to play. He loved this whole Sox retiree band thing almost as much as he'd loved baseball. He just wished he knew if they were shouting for him or the tiny stringed instrument he gently strummed.

Re: After the Game

[jydog1]

ha! I have love for this!

Are all its variables declared as strings?

[jjfoley]

Finally, the MUI (Musical User Interface) was nearing completion. Imagine - Rock Band players surfing the web with each strum. This was big. Really big.

Different instrument voices was the breakthrough. Scrolling with soft guitar strums. Going forward or backward with electric guitar licks. Clicking here or there with a banjo’s plinkity-plink. There was a naturalness to it that went beyond keyboard and mouse.

He paused. What should he use for reloading pages? A smile crept across his face as the Hawaiian shirt decorating his developer cave beckoned him. A ukulele. Perfect. After all, hearing a ukulele was always so… refreshing.

Editted first time :)

[alsih2o]

The older woman’s portly shape and sausage like fingers set an unusual parallel for the blurring speed of her fingers across the ukulele. Her gelatinous hips worked tight spirals under the dainty wooden box of an instrument as if they supported innumerable Hula Hoops with their gyrations. The reverberations of the instruments sounds spoke to the solidity of the chamber.
Edward banged his head against the stone beneath him, glimpsing out the door at the accordion and bagpipe trio shuffling nervously as they waited their turn.
“So” he thought, “this is hell.”

Seonaid

[anonymous]

I cradle the ukulele in my too-large hands. “This used to be my grandfather’s,” I say quietly. It is beautiful-golden polished wood and taut silvery strings. There’s a master’s mark on the back, near the bottom. It’s almost too small to see; it almost looks like a blemish in the otherwise flawless wood. But if you look closer, you can make it out-a tiny horseshoe with the letters “EKG” in the middle. We always had a good chuckle over that. And now, there are only those initials and the ukulele. “He would have wanted you to have it.”