Flash Fiction / The Piano (Analysis)
He sat and listened to the way the notes sounded under his weathered fingers as he nudged along a slow and steady tune from the black and ivory keys. It tugged gently at something inside him, as it did every time. Then in came the haunting beauty of the violin and he felt his breath being stolen with every connection of bow and strings. He raised his eyes to where her fluid movements brought silky sound. He couldn’t regain himself. Tears fell in rapid succession onto his unwavering hands. He could see a lone drop hanging precariously in her left eye. Her face held longing and her lips trembled, and they played on.
The sound echoed through the house, up the stairs and through the rooms of children long gone. It reverberated through empty cupboards and over untouched shelves and surfaces. It rattled the dust, it shook the glass in its panes. As their song came to a rising crescendo, he could contain it no longer. The anguish, the loneliness and the longing emerged from behind his lips. The violin had stopped playing, she was gone and he was alone, and still he played.
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