Taken from the final chapter of Mitch Albom’s “The Magic Strings of Frankie Presto“:
His top string had turned blue.
The audience, thinking this was part of the finale, began applauding vigorously. In the darkness, Frankie felt a blissful surrender, a draining of both his power and his worries, as if someone had unplugged him from the heaviness of this world. Those strings, he now understood, did indeed have lives inside them, but it was not his playing that turned them blue; it was his heart.
With the ovation growing louder, Frankie lifted his head. He saw now, high in the rafters, the spirits of El Maestro, Baffa, and Aurora, beckoning to him. He reached for them and a pain gripped his chest. His guitar clanged to the floor.
And then, as some have told the authorities, he appeared to rise to the ceiling.
I shall clear that up now. Frankie’s body never rose. That was his soul. But so great was the desire of the world to hear his splendid music–to keep it even a few more seconds–that his spirit was tugged, momentarily, between heaven and earth.
There can be but one victor in such a struggle.
Seconds later, he was gone, and only his body was left behind, thudding to the stage as if a puppet’s string had been cut.