Mezzoforte Piano

[Marly]

Literature

Discuss books and post your own literary creations.

 

Hopefully I'm not doing anything wrong by posting some original content here. I'm sure it could go in fanfiction, but that's just it, it's not fanfiction. It's just some original drabble I'm entering into a local writing contest, and I wanted some feedback and/or criticism before handing it in. Keep in mind, one of the requirements was it being under 750 words (which I found ridiculous), so please don't mention the length. Also keep in mind, this was written by a high school freshman, so try not to be too harsh. xD

 

[spoiler=Mezzoforte Piano]

His fingers gracefully drifted across the ivory keys with a haunting, swaying melody. A magnificent, beautiful sound filled the empty theatre. The stage was dimly lit, illuminated only by a single beacon of light, fixated on a gaunt, brunette man who looked to be in his early 20’s. His glare completely focused on the simple, mahogany piano in front of him.

 

He was playing one of his more recent works, simply titled “Requiem for God’s Flower”, and though he had no intent on letting this song be publicized, he strenuously worked to perfect his piece. Rehearsal had finished hours ago, yet he was still there, hunched over the piano with a look of sheer determination drawn across his face.

 

This piece had been written for someone dear to him, his lovely Belle. He sees her everyday in the orchestra, yet he cannot muster enough courage to speak with her, let alone convey his feelings to her. Words were never his forte, he could never choose the right thing to say, his vocabulary always paled in comparison to his peers, his passion was music, not linguistics. To him, the soft melodies of a skilled flutist were much more powerful than a few petty words.

 

He continues with his divine rhapsody. The notes linger as he aggressively pressed down another key, the tone was peaceful, calm, and it seemed to emit a feeling of hopefulness and love. Oh, how the pianist longed for his dear Belle. Oh, how he longed for her warm embrace. But alas, he hadn’t the courage to play this for her; he would never have that courage.

 

The pianist stood, and gazed down at the piano. The piano was an antique, at least fifty years old. It had been through so much, and the pianist longed for its secrets. Oh, the things the old instrument must have witnessed. He almost wished it could talk, so he could hear its tales, and possibly seek the guidance of its previous owners.

 

As the pianist pushed in the small stool underneath the body of the piano, a faint clapping could be heard from the audience. He was sure the theatre had been empty before he began his melody. He glanced toward the rows of seats, and saw a beautiful woman gazing at him. Her silky blonde hair radiated in the dim light of the theatre, and a broad smile stretched across her face.

 

It was Belle, she had forgotten her instrument there, and she had heard every note.