youtube writing prompts

sobbing alone in front of a haunted piano

This work is inspired by a YouTube video posted by oliviaalee, posted December 4, 2020.

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The shadows of the setting sun envelope me as I wander through his house, a dead and empty shell of its former self- just like him. His face was pale and unsmiling, his eyes closed and collar buttoned to the very top in a way he would've complained about. That body was my best friend and not my best friend at the same time, and I could barely stand the sight of him, nestled up in that coffin with his hair stiff with gel and not touseled in that way it always seemed to be in life.

This house used to breathe with life, with the sound of his playing in the living room. His dearest possession- his grandmother's grand piano that was always a tiny bit flat- was always where I found him, playing some sort of tune, surrounded by sheets of music of all kinds. I close my eyes, replaying the mellow sound of his piano I had only heard last week. Tears prick the corners of my eyes, threatening to escape the confines of my grief.

Shut up, he'd say if he were here. I can hear his amused voice echo in my mind. You really think I'm that easy to get rid of? I'll be here forever just to haunt you until you die so we can haunt the world together. Promise.

A shiver races up my spine, and my eyes snap open, as I realize, suddenly, that the tune of his piano- that mellow, warm tone- is one I have never heard before. My heart begins to race, and I step closer to the living room, each step threatening to send me flying back to the door and running away.

Somehow, I manage to turn the corner as the music hits me full force, and my knees nearly buckle with the onslaught of emotion. It's a familiar tune now, the song we decided years ago that was solely ours, and definitely not a part of my imagination when I see the keys being played and the pedal pressed- with no one at the seat.

I stumble towards the piano, still playing that same tune- softer now, perhaps- a sob wrenching itself from my throat and the tears I had so carefully hidden during his funeral streaming from my eyes.

Really? I can hear him say in a disappointed minor chord. You're staining my carpet. I told you I'm not that easy to get rid of.

"You idiot," I mutter, collapsing on the carpet. "Just you wait. I'll make you pay for all this emotional trauma you've caused me when I get my hands on you."

I'll look forward to it, darling, I hear in a brighter arpeggio. After all, you have a whole lifetime to plan for it.