Dear Melody

Chapter 3: Superhero

As I pressed the piano keys, a sense of déjà vu washed over me. My fingers danced on the instrument like they used to, but the stage remained devoid of music's embrace.

I persisted, hitting the keys again and again-two, three, four, five times-yet silence clung to the air, refusing to yield to my touch. Frustration clawed at me as I struck the piano with my fist, expecting a resounding bang, yet the world stubbornly clung to its hush.

My piano, now a disfigured ruin beneath my trembling hands, not even produce a single crack as I destroyed it. As though I'd been struck deaf, or so I believed.

Suddenly, a thundering applause erupted from the audience, hundreds of shadowy figures with eerie smiles and pitch-black forms. Their praise rang through the air.

"Amazing piece!"
"As expected of Urata Wataru!"
"His bloodline never lies!"
"It's so wonderful that I cried!"

"...stop," I hissed at them, as if lashing out against the buzzing insects.

"Can you please play again?"
"We're so touched by your skill!"
"Encore!"
"Enco－"

"SHUT UP!"

I seized one of the piano's shattered legs and grabbed the collar of the shadow who'd been most obnoxious. As I raised it to strike down and end their relentless adulation, my body froze. The face before me morphed into that of my father, a man whose laughter had always been a rare commodity.

"Wataru," he said with a grin wider than I'd ever seen, and then he cackled madly.

"YOU'LL NEVER! EVER! ESCAPE! THIS WONDERFUL MUSIC!!"

His high-pitched voice rang in my ears, and I flinched. The world around me blurred as shadowy figures seized my arms, forcibly placing my hands upon the piano keys drawn in blood.

Stop! Stop!

No!

I don't want to play!

Help!!

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

When I awoke, the morning light pierced my eyes, temporarily blinding me. As I recognized the ceiling of my village house, I realized I was drenched in sweat and my heart raced uncontrollably. Wiping the sweat away, I found tear tracks on my cheeks. Moreso, the wet trace on my pillow proved me that it wasn't a small sob.

"Did I cry? Was it a nightmare?"

Though unable to recall any single details, the residual discomfort lingered. My chest ached even in my ignorance. I attempted to calm myself and made my way to the sink, where I washed my face. That's when I realized a glimpse in the mirror revealed a toothpaste tube that had run empty.

Opening the cupboard, I saw that my toilet paper, soap, detergent, and various hygiene supplies were all running low. It was unlike me to forget to restock my own needs, but perhaps I'd grown too accustomed to the caretaker's help due to my injured hands.

Sighing, I decided that I needed to visit the supermarket today. I'd bandage my hands extra securely to prevent any bleeding as I carried the groceries.

As I readied myself in the entrance, slipping on a green coat and warm gloves, a click from the door drew my attention. The sight of the caretaker wasn't surprising, but the presence of someone else behind her caused a subtle furrow of my brow. The redheaded man from yesterday. Why was he here?