Is it ordinary to shut out yourself? In the conflict of interest, in the necessary pause in conversation, in the world. Self expression becomes the medium for your ventilation. It is the air conditioning to a sauna. When peace and tranquility are your only salvation, I do my best to take to writing to achieve pure bliss. So here goes my first very short story I'll attempt to animate.

Melodic and smooth. It starts off in repeated 4 by 4 bars of pianissimo at a largo pace. Every note delicate, sensitive to the touch and near inaudible to the ear. She then crescendos the lines, reaching a mezzo forte in the next three bars while keeping tempo. Transitions perfected, and once again soft, light. Fortissimo and Allegro, playing the eighth notes on both hands with uncanny syncopation.. Back to largo, forte. Nails digging into the ivory sculpted keys. Page after page. To a decrescendo and ritardando before the last line of the note is scripted fermata. A tempo..then repeat.

Dynamics are engraved into her playing. They change the style and the message the music generates. What theme does she want to paint today? A modern Picasso or a Mona Lisa. It becomes a tug of war game, each side of her battles to gain ground. Strings attached to her finger joints, the puppeteer in her head as she strokes back and forth on the canvas. See notes in her head do fly out the page, yes they do. Not just off the page but strangle her with their stems and balls to win her affection. A romantic waltz, or a rape, or a mischievous child; each touching her. The choice is hers, and hers alone.

But today... today none of them win. Today she sits on the padded four legged chair, hands extended and poised on the black and white keys. They possess the dexterity, as they always have, through sheer muscle memory and mental memorization. She touches D, the very tip of it. Outlines the familiar varnish up and down, her right index finger tracing the cracks and gaps between the adjacent notes. Will it be D#, maybe C#. She is feeling in the minor today, and lets it hover. The middle finger of the same hand gravitates towards F lethargically, and remains parked there. There's an urge for her to start the bass clef. Eyes closed, the left ring finger chooses. Almost at lottery, scanning the surface back and forth until a natural indent swallows her finger. Surprised by the sudden force, she drops her thumb down and almost instantly the four notes ring out...

But they don't.

D

F

E

A