The Ivory Piano

Thought of something while playing my keyboard =]

 

Her long, smooth fingers gently caressed the engravings on the ivory wood.

She traced her fingertips over ebony keys and smiled.

 

She remembered how her father had an ivory piano made for her bedroom, placed right next to the window.

She remembered how her father would sit by her till moonlight would spill over the dark wood, teaching her various chords.

He would make her practice and practice. Every note, he would make sure she perfected. Every octave, he would make her play over and over again.

Day and night, for hours she used to play intricate, complex pieces composed by Chopin, Debussy, and Beethoven.

She used to play when the sun would shine, and children her age would play outside.

 

Rachmaninov`s 3rd Piano Concerto

 

She used to play when the snow would fall and Christmas carols would fill the air.

 

Gaspard de la Nuit

 

She used to play till her fingers would bruise and her wrist go sore.

 

Busoni and Ligeti concerti

 

“You need to play with more force!” He would say, “More emotions. More!”

 

Opus Clavicembalisticum

 

More. He always wanted more. It was never enough.

 “She is just a child!” Her mother would say, tears in her eyes and pleading.

But her father would firmly put the topic to rest.

“Yes, but she is my child.”

 

My child.

 

She sat on the velvet cushion and slowly propped up the key slip.

The audience fell silent and the theatre lights grew dim.

A blanched stream of light focused on her and so did 1200 pair of eyes.

She took a deep breath and settled her hand on her lap. Perfect form.

With one elegant finger, she pressed the key. Perfect position.

The sound resonated through her body, transfixing her in a state of euphoria.

Another forefinger dipped another key, building up the music.

And soon, she was lost in a composition fierce and strong.

Her fingers moved with precision defining her as a Virtuoso.

As her heart played with the symphony of the ivory piano,

Her father’s words played in her mind:

 

“The piano only makes the music. You give life to it.”

Author's Note

This piece was suppose to be a story. But since I have been facing a problem of words eluding me, I decided to make this incomplete story- a poem. Now ain't I just clever? =]
I would love to be able to play like that someday. But in the meantime, tell me what you think of it?
Thank you =]

Reviews

[Omar]

Oh wow. I think I've just had my breath taken away! I love the transition from the memories to the present, the link between the two is so strong, the way they overlap is ingenious. A remarkable piece! And what a way to end it: "The piano only makes the music. You give life to it." Lovely. I was browsing for short stories because I needed some inspiration, and I'm glad I stumbled across this :)

O

[Al Yerks]

You truly gave life to this story. I love the father's love shining through the pushing of his daughter to strive for perfection. We should always strive for perfection, but give mercy, and recieve mercy when we fall a bit short. I like this alot...thank you!

[mystic soul]

wow! this is really good.... story turned into a poem!!! good write... n practice like she did.. u'll too give life to music :)