Sometimes I Write Poems, Sometimes I Write Songs

20. So He Played - Short Story

A long time ago there was a pianist. He played the piano as a child. He loved to, it was his hobby, his craft, his life. He had finally been able to play for others, up on a little raised platform for a few people in a restaurant. He was so proud, so he played, and he played well. He played sad songs and happy songs, and soon enough, a mass of people had come to see him, surrounding him, cheering him, so he played. He played far past his contracted hours, he couldn't get enough of the fame he had so craved and fantasized as a child. It was at this moment that he thought to himself, maybe he really could become a famous pianist?

So he played.

He played until even his hands began to tire, so he finished his song, and stood to bow. As he got up to leave, the crowd begged for more. They wanted more, they admired him, sure, but they wanted more.

So he played.

He played for hours more.

He played until he could play no more, exhausted, missing notes as his fingers slipped. He finally got up to leave, almost desperate, but still trying to hold on to the feeling he had of being liked and almost famous, of having the spotlight. As he went to leave, the crowd grew restless and began to boo him.

So he sat back down.

So he played.

So he played.

So he played.

So he played.

So he played.

So he played.

So he played until his life became his prison.

But the crowd liked it.

So he played.

So he still plays to this day.