She had lived and died with a deep love for the piano. Her cold, white fingers still longed to graze the white keys of the grand. She sat at the bench of a magnificent black piano that contrasted her white corpse. She placed a bony finger on the middle C and pressed down. The sound echoed through the emptiness but the feeling she got from that one note filled her with a forgotten warmth that seemed to kill her chill. She craved that warmth and began to play a beautiful piece, one that she had never heard. Her fingers burnt with every note, playing a song of death with a secret undertone of life. The song contradicted itself with every measure. Her fingers moving swiftly across the whole piano, reaching every key. Low to high, high to low. The notes of the piece told a story of her strange life and more recent death. The big black grand seemed to bring life to her. Seemed to bring life to the pianist.
Created: Jul 20, 2010Document Media