Noam Chen is a pianist.
Forced by his father to be the best in one thing has led him to a state of mind that makes him think that he can't love anything but piano. But as the pain of abuse catches up to him, he is determined to prove that he spe...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
CHOPIN'S ETUDE IN E MINOR, OPUS 25, No. 5 ▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂
THE PIANO WAS my only friend. Even though it hurt me, I respected it's beauty. It sat right in front of me at the moment, my reflection was disoriented as if the piano was trying to convey something.
To me, it is too hard to pour emotions from my words or my actions. The piano helped me to convey those emotions, even though no one acknowledged them. It was a helper, but also and enemy.
I closed the fallboard and stood up from the bench. A sigh escaped my lips as I stood in the endearing silence. My heart ached, I had no idea why it was, but it hurt. My fingertips tingled, the urge of wanting to play the piano compelling them. It was quite dark outside, it was four thirty in the morning. I stayed up and played my heart out to the non-existent people who were there for me.
My feet had a mind of its own. It brought me to the outside world, a world that I usually did not exsist in, it was cold, but I guess my body didn't realize it. I could see my breath in the frosty air as I breathed a unstable sigh. I wanted my mom. She left me here with my demon of a father even when he—he, beat me. When he made me believe that I was a mistake. That I was a disgrace to mankind.
The sky was a dark blue, so dark that it was almost black. I ran a hand through my hair in frustration. Sometimes I felt like I couldn't handle it anymore. That me and my life wasn't meant to be living. Some days it was like that, most of them though.
I love the piano. Trust me, I do, but I love other things too. I love to stick my head out car windows, but my father told me not to. He doesn't want me to enjoy anything. All he wanted is for me to become a splitting image of him. I like to play the guitar, playing games on my phone because I'm fascinated by how they are made, I like to sing and draw, but I knew that I can never pursue that dream.
The sun was rising. The sky began to turn the dark blue into an burnt orange. The orange faded into the bursting rays that consumed the sun. The sun touched the horizon and made it turn into a piercing pink. I was tired, but my heart wasn't.
School was today. The first day of senior year, but it wasn't the first day of being not cared for. I trotted inside and up the stairs to get ready for school. I didn't do much, just brushed my teeth, put on my contacts, and threw some clothes on.
My mom used to tell me to always look presentable because you never know who you'll bump into. So I grabbed a white button-down and layered a black crew-neck on top. I fixed my collar and the folded the sleeves up in the mirror. A worn out messenger bag was flung onto my desk chair that held the essentials; sheet music, notebook and blank staff-paper, mechanical pencils, folders, and my textbooks. At least the essentials I needed.
