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  • Writer's pictureJames Kidac

The piano that plays by itself

There are many notes to a piano. The white teeth and the black in-betweens provide the perfect avenue for a mind's release. Each note has its significance and in weird ways melodies, compositions give respect to each and every note played by the wooden piano. This piano is in a room in a place no one ever goes. It has a musky smell and a dirty dark look and a layer of dust that settled on it since it is touched by no one. It's hard to find a place such as this one to put a piano nowadays and leave it there untouched, undisturbed and without reason. But this is a peaceful place, almost surreal and the light that permeates the room only illuminates the old piano to make it look grander than its humble assembly. Inside this room, every furniture is parched with only dirt to quench their thirst and the piano certainly needs more, quivering in the cold room at night. In time, the angels of logic, supposed to oversee the world, finally ignored this place ultimately as no one goes there. In a night of dreadfulness, a note resonated from this room. The piano had begun to play. It added a note to another and made a melody to play. Growing ever confident, the old piece of oak decided to hold a few notes into rhythms of thum thum thum and strung a few melodies into a composition that glittered. Then it mixed compositions together and melodies to complement and then it started to dance around in happiness as cold chills were no longer the omnipresence in the room; it was now music. Aside from small bouts of bitter wind that blew in, at least life had found its way.

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