Night in the City of Paper

Music Prompts

We have a large piano in my house. My whole family just looks at it as if it were nothing more than just that. My mother, masterful with the ivory keys, finds peace in the sounds it makes. My brother just hits the keys like a child, though he is just that. I see it as a beast.

You may be thinking, Beast? A piano? How ridiculous! I understand. People see things differently. My mom didn't understand when I tried to tell her. She just stopped her melody and looked at me with that "You're insane, Emma," look. I can't tell you to understand, but I can help you.

To me, the piano is a beast. Not the kind with long claws and beady eyes that make things go bump in the night. Like a horse. A wild horse. Untamable. That's how I see the piano, untamable. I understand how it works, scientifically, but I can't seem to make the keys sing like my mom does. The ebony and ivory just look at me with teasing, tempting eyes, but I just can't.

I awoke to a noise in my room. The distant echo of a tune familiar, but long forgotten. Nostalgic would be a word that came to mind. I almost drifted back to sleep when I shot up in bed, realizing that I was supposed to be alone.

I crept into the dimmed halls towards the piano. The happy tune turning dark did nothing to calm my nerves. I peaked my head around the door just as the music followed a dramatic crescendo.

At the piano sat a girl, or rather, woman with a short, blue, satin dress that greatly contrasted her fair skin. It drooped off one shoulder with the carelessness only a person who was completely enveloped in their one world could achieve. Her chestnut hair almost matched the color of the piano, only emphasizing how well she seemed to merge with it. She was too fixated on the paper in front of her to notice me.

Just as the piece came to a crashing end I build up the courage to make my presence known.

"You put your hands on the C major." She gingerly placed my hand on the correct keys. I hoped she couldn't see my hand shaking. I tried to savor the feeling. Her hands were warm and soft.

"Then do this," She instructed. Her hand drifted over the keys, pulling together random notes to make them a song. Her song. She was teaching me the melody. I attempted to do what she did, but my fingers turned her elegant dance into a stumble. She snorted.

"Right keys, but like this." She played her beautiful dance. I nodded. I took a breath and played what she did, just clumsier. She nodded.

"Better."

The crowd never saw the curtain open. It didn't open. It stayed closed. It was part of the mystery. Everyone who walked in wondered why it stayed closed, but no one tried to see. The music was so beautiful that maybe they just forgot. The music was undeniably beautiful. It wasn't even muffled by the curtain.

It was definitely for the best that the curtain stayed closed. Otherwise, no one would come. The theater wouldn't make any money, and it would starve. I say It because It changes gender whenever the one before dies or refuses to play. It never escapes alive.

Right now it was a she, though you couldn't tell. They kept Its hair shaved so that It couldn't pull it out. The first It pulled out all his hair after the thirteenth performance. They killed It.  The next one died after 20. Then 17. Then 18. 15. 19. 16. 12. 15.

This It was only on her tenth. She was probably concerned about the chains around her wrist and ankles. Who wouldn't be? They kept her to the piano and bench, that way she couldn't escape. It was fascinating to watch. It's a shame they'll have to kill her soon. I really like her.