The Piano Plays On

Tea cups rattle, voices are raised. A slur of words, words she had never even heard before, fly across the room. Sitting in her wicker chair, white feet swinging back and forth, they suddenly stop. Yelling goes on, she looks to her lap, where her tea cup sits untouched. And a piano plays in the distance.

 

Dark, silky braids lay soft against her cheek. Words are hurled over her head. They seem not to notice, this young thing, sitting so still and calm before them. The words arent about her, but she cant help but feel she caused this somehow. As if she herself was to blame for this burst of anger. And the piano plays on.

 

The sun is shining so bight, she cant believe it. Blinding her, she closes her eyes shut. Wrinkles are created, in the creases by her eyes. So tight, she holds them closed, that her head begins to hurt. Tears are squeezed out, they slide down her chin. Her head is hurting and the room is getting so loud, but she doesnt move, doesnt dare move a muscle in case they might notice her and turn their wrath upon her. She doesnt understand why anyone ever yelled, she much preffered silence when angry. And the damned piano plays on.