The Piano

 

The Piano

He sat down at the piano, letting his fingers dance lightly over the keys without a sound. He swallowed and pressed down on the first chord, bringing his song to life…

 

He pulled his hood over his head as he trotted through the puddles of rain grouping outside their apartment. He hummed to himself as he took the stairs two at a time and raced up toward her. Her. The love of his life. He shook the rain off him as he slid his key slowly into the lock…

 

The keys moved themselves, he did nothing but feed the fire he was creating. The diminished melody haunted him even as he wrote it, but he needed to write it. He opened his jaw and inhaled slowly…

               

There was a shuffling inside the room as he opened the door. The thought briefly crossed his mind. He looked in, holding the champagne bottle in his hand out in front of him, smiling wide. He saw her. And another. He dropped the champagne bottle, and it shattered across the wood floor and spewed over everything…

 

The words spewed out of his mouth, he knew not what he was singing, but the words flowed and it felt so good, to release. Poetic stanza’s fit perfectly with the hauntingly familiar melody, yet the music was dissonant and unresolved. He pounded with the left hand, then left on a sudden stop…

 

                They were both naked, on the couch in the front room. His hands were all over her. Her surprised eyes were locked on his, but he could hardly see her, let alone breathe. The other man was not looking, he had not noticed. His hands, his lips, abusing his wife in the worst way imaginable. His hands clenched and grew clammy as he raised them. How could she? All this he noticed in a matter of seconds…

 

One lonely, forgotten chord rang through the room. The echo filled his ears in amplification. He paused, realizing what was happening. His fingers moved on their own, his subconscious speaking to the piano and to his voice and them only, he no longer had control of his body. It raised, tensed, ready for the bellowing chorus…

 

                His heartbeat pulsed. He screamed. “Not again!” he shouted, “How could you?” The woman leaned away and reached for the man’s hands,  empty apologizes flowing over her bottom lip like water. The man didn’t care, all he wanted was revenge. He pulled his hands away from the woman’s and charged at the other man, who he felt was solely responsible. He grabbed the cheater by the throat and threw him off the couch, bellowing like an enraged bull. The man didn’t make a sound. He lay still when he hit the ground, his neck contorted in an impossible angle. On the ground, the man let out a final gasp and his eyes slid open. They were glossed over already….

 

The piano vibrated with every pound of his raging fists, his tenor of his voice ripped through his throat, filling the cold dark room full of emotion. The brick walls were unyielding. The piano purred underneath him, feeding from his emotions. Behind him, a man looked through a single, one sided window…

 

                He was dead. The woman screamed, but didn’t say a word. The man looked at his hands, almost believing they were covered in the dead man’s blood. The man sank to the floor and curled into a ball. S**t, he thought, the only thought going through his head. “His blood is on your hands!” The woman cried. She rushed to the phone and dialed three numbers. I should stop her, the man thought, but he didn’t move. His whole body was numb, the man couldn’t do anything but sit still. The woman hung up and rushed out of the room. The man stayed, he didn’t know how long. After a while, he heard the sirens outside…

 

He ended the song with one pealing note, it pierced his ears and he lifted his hands from the piano. The cold of the room sank in again and he looked up at the one way mirror. He saw his reflection, cold hatred of jail was still resonating in his eyes. His orange jumpsuit was dirty, he hadn’t cared enough to wash it. He opened his mouth and said: “I’m done.” The security guards opened the door and walked in, waiting to escort the man out of the room. The man took one more look around the room, seeing the demons he released floating around the dim florescent lights and cackling at him. The man stood up, pushing the small piano bench out of his way, the turned and left the room, flicking the lights off as he went. 

 

                He was shoved into the police car after hours of investigation. The neighbors had all come out of their apartments, and were now staring at him as he looked out at the grey, raining world. The puddles had gathered in the parking lot into a lake of dirty water. He saw his reflection in the water. He could see the grief of murder rush into his eyes. I killed a man, he thought. I’m a murderer. His eyes turned black as pitch that day. Just as his soul.

Reviews

[Darl1ng N1kk1]

Wow. Powerful. I really like the effect of switching back and forth between the two parts of the story. Very original and very good.

[Que]

Originally I had selected this piece because I play piano whenever I can get my hands on one (otherwise I content my self with a keyboard.) And, quite honestly, it took only the first two sentences to pull me into a trance. When a pianist plays it is to explain raw emotions that are otherwise impossible to explain in words alone and also to bring them to life. When I saw that you had so quickly brought this into your story I knew I was in for a ride.

I wish I could give you some criticism (a strange thing to wish for) since that's what reviews are meant for. But every time I read it (a couple times more than a few now) I can't find anything I'd recommend changing.

Giving us the raw state of his emotions of being cheated on (again) and of becoming a murderer through the characters playing the piano has grasped the musician in me, the poet in me (this may not be a poem, but it has the flow of one,) the love in me and the lover scorned in me.

Truly beautiful, and I mean that with all my heart. Thank you.

~Que