Short Story Collection

You Can Not Replay

You can not replay.

The words stayed with him as he ventured cautiously towards the piano. Fingers brushing against the crushed velvet of the stool, he sat. He placed his hands gently on the keys, ignoring the dusty blanket that covered them: no one had played for a while.

He started to play.

The music flowed around him, the sonorous tones of his left hand harmonising with the melody of his right. Notes coated every surface, dancing with exuberant vigour as they slipped, unbidden, from the river of sound. A dissonant chord reverberated around the room, his playing jarring to a halt as the skeletal fingers of despair smothered him in their icy grasp.

You can not replay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taking a breath, I put my bow to the strings and began to play.

The violin sat light in my hands, its elegant frame resting under my chin as it sang, gracing the world with a melody like no other. Below me, people stopped; turned to seek out the source of the music. None of them saw me, tucked away on that rooftop, playing my heart out. My bow danced across the strings like leaping flame, needing no conscious thought. I was engulfed by my song, swept away in its relentless current.

I didn't bother struggling.

The music was where I belonged. It had claimed me and I was never going back.