note:: I guess I am really a bit...slow. Really. But busy these days.
Anyway,L, thanx for your comment,moocha. You see, I'm not quite familiar
with the way Fanfic works, so...pardon me.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: ONCE again, she went back to her old house. The house which was once her home. Home sweet home. But now it was longer sweet, no longer home. She looked around the dilapidated house. It was still big. Very. And empty. Very. She tip-toed around the room, as though afraid to disturb some sort of spirits. The house was very,very quiet, and peaceful. She went into the piano room. The piano was sitting there, like a saint. She drew the curtains open, letting steaks of sunlight shine in, then walked to the piano.
She found peace with herself once her fingers touched the keys. Smiling with herself a little, she sat down, and started on some simple notes. Then some chords. She took her time. Followed that was some scales, more complicated ones...faster...and faster...until her fingers were a blur,a twirl, a mini tornado on the keyboard. And she smiled on...A sudden stop. Some songs, jazz...classics...She poured out every single song she knew, one by one, taking her time, enjoying every song. When she proceeded on to "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" ,she laughed. When it was Zwolf Variationen, she haughtily hit some wrong keys. It reminded her of her mom's sour face whenever she did that. And she played on.
Now there's something about her fingers that you wouldn't want to miss. Her fingers were as long and as thin as a witch's. And...er...as wicked and as naughty as a bitch's. Her fingers were like gigantic spiders strolling across the keyboard. Hunting Spiders.
And there's another thing you wouldn't want to miss: Her piano. A magnificant one, grand and shining. Old, but was kept so well that it could even shine out your reflexion. In fact, she used to look at a particular portion to see her mom's expressions. A perfect angle to see everything behind her. She would know when her father entered the room, when her baby sister came toddling in, when her mom took some fruits in (so she could have a bite)...
And she looked automatically at that part of her piano.
And saw someone.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
She played on and on, immersed in a world of herself. She really liked the piano. She loved it. She just couldn't stop.
Now, she was playing some very quite piece. Like streams of water that flowed past her, the scent of the afterrain, the swaying of the grass.
Something was wrong.
She played on and on.
The room suddenly became colder.
She played on and on...
And on......
The gleam of the knife.
On and on...
And then, came the wrong note.
No more notes.
She looked at the reflexion of the intruder, raised her hands over her shoulder, and clasped the intruder's neck with her hands. Just like an eagle's claw.
The prey was dead before he could even gasp. What left was the bits of initial horror and surprise on the intruders face. :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: ONCE again, she went back to her old house. The house which was once her home. Home sweet home. But now it was longer sweet, no longer home. She looked around the dilapidated house. It was still big. Very. And empty. Very. She tip-toed around the room, as though afraid to disturb some sort of spirits. The house was very,very quiet, and peaceful. She went into the piano room. The piano was sitting there, like a saint. She drew the curtains open, letting steaks of sunlight shine in, then walked to the piano.
She found peace with herself once her fingers touched the keys. Smiling with herself a little, she sat down, and started on some simple notes. Then some chords. She took her time. Followed that was some scales, more complicated ones...faster...and faster...until her fingers were a blur,a twirl, a mini tornado on the keyboard. And she smiled on...A sudden stop. Some songs, jazz...classics...She poured out every single song she knew, one by one, taking her time, enjoying every song. When she proceeded on to "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" ,she laughed. When it was Zwolf Variationen, she haughtily hit some wrong keys. It reminded her of her mom's sour face whenever she did that. And she played on.
Now there's something about her fingers that you wouldn't want to miss. Her fingers were as long and as thin as a witch's. And...er...as wicked and as naughty as a bitch's. Her fingers were like gigantic spiders strolling across the keyboard. Hunting Spiders.
And there's another thing you wouldn't want to miss: Her piano. A magnificant one, grand and shining. Old, but was kept so well that it could even shine out your reflexion. In fact, she used to look at a particular portion to see her mom's expressions. A perfect angle to see everything behind her. She would know when her father entered the room, when her baby sister came toddling in, when her mom took some fruits in (so she could have a bite)...
And she looked automatically at that part of her piano.
And saw someone.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
She played on and on, immersed in a world of herself. She really liked the piano. She loved it. She just couldn't stop.
Now, she was playing some very quite piece. Like streams of water that flowed past her, the scent of the afterrain, the swaying of the grass.
Something was wrong.
She played on and on.
The room suddenly became colder.
She played on and on...
And on......
The gleam of the knife.
On and on...
And then, came the wrong note.
No more notes.
She looked at the reflexion of the intruder, raised her hands over her shoulder, and clasped the intruder's neck with her hands. Just like an eagle's claw.
The prey was dead before he could even gasp. What left was the bits of initial horror and surprise on the intruders face. :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::