The Piano's Puppet

It wasn’t necessarily the piano; it was the sounds it made. The sounds of the notes were far better than any lover’s. The notes could describe any feeling and if you’re anything like me, expressing your feelings with words was impossible.

When I played the piano, I wasn’t actually controlling the notes, they controlled me. The notes moved my hands to the right place, possessing me to play. How could I say no? How could I deny such beauty?

Many people asked me how I made up my songs, even though they knew I wouldn’t answer, couldn’t answer. I let the music show that I was merely a puppet. They did not understand. They thought I used my fingers to make this chilling music that surprised them so, but I was just as surprised! I never know what will be played.

All was good in my wordless world until the mirror. Yes, the mirror changed everything beyond repair. It was not my fault, it couldn’t be, and I was only a puppet. I have no control over my mind and over my actions. Everything the piano made me do was magical! Oh but that mirror, it showed me more things that the piano had made me do against my will and those things were not beautiful. The mirror must be lying. The piano makes music, nothing more. Or could it be true I did those things...? I would remember, of course I would, right?

They wonder what I’ve done; you wonder what I have done. It wasn’t me! The piano or the mirror, but it wasn’t me! Maybe it doesn’t matter anymore, after all what’s done is done. Nevertheless, I will tell you about it, about what happened that morning, the morning I looked through the mirror.