Sunday, February 12, 2012

The darkest heart.

But try as he might he couldn't find anyone to share it with, wherever he went he was met with resistance and tears. He soon discovered that this longing of his wasn't like everyone else's it was dark. It had something evil to it that kept his desires unattainable. They cried because they knew it was wrong, they left because they couldn't look him in the face any longer. His notes no longer danced as they left the keys, but slipped out, afraid of being discovered, as if the darkness they harboured could never be cleansed. He and the piano bench began to drift apart. The man began to spend less and less time playing his dancing tunes.

Saturday, February 11, 2012

The Piano Bench.

The piano bench. It had been there for years. It was chipped and scuffed and the hinges creaked, there was even a place on the seat that had been worn down from years of being sat on. Nobody notices it anymore, they hardly ever did. It simply sits, sometimes in the sun, sometimes in shadow, year after year, until one day somebody picks it up and takes an axe to it and uses its shards as fire wood.
Nobody could ever imagine what it would say after so many years of silent observation. In the beginning when it was shinny and new with a bright young man who would sit upon it for hours playing the piano, making each note dance a spritly jig in the sunlight that poured through the window. Later the young man would sit with a choir, playing his dancing tunes, leading their voices as they rose and dipped in joyful harmony. These were happy times, times where bench and man were almost one, where the worn spot developing on both of their heads was a point of pride and maturity. This young musician who sat on the bench so regularly was getting older, his dancing tunes still filled the heart with joy, but what his heart really desired was another heart to share it with.

Friday, February 3, 2012

A fragile age.

"I'm so sorry." Officer Stephens said, he didn't know what to say, nothing seemed to even come close. He stood in the threshold holding his hat in his hands, wringing the the sides. How could a family suffer so much in one day? It was inconceivable, why was he even here? What help could he possibly be?
Mrs. Meyer and Flora stood their lifeless, staring at the helpless awkward man in front of them. What was he doing here? What help was he to anyone? Dennis, now Martin? Something had died along with them that day, and no amount of detective work would bring it back.
"This doesn't seem like the appropriate time, but when you are ready, could I perhaps ask you some questions?" Officer Stephen's said.
"I'm ready now." Said Flora she hand't said a word until now.
"Please, I-I understand that you'll need time, I-I shouldn't have come, I'll come back another time-"
"I killed him." Flora shouted, interrupting Officer Stephen's, she was completely calm, only shouting to be heard over his stuttering.
"Please dear, don't be guilty, you couldn't have done a thing, what your father did was completely his fault." Her mother said soothingly.
"Not him, Dennis." Flora said, "He thought he was special, he thought he could do things other people couldn't, so I dared him, be like Houdini, prove yourself, but I knew that he was a fake, I drove him to it anyway. I walked away and he struggled and flailed and gasped for breath, but it was done. I left the note and the dog found his body." Flora finished her tirade.
Silence. The all at once Mrs. Meyer screamed and slapped her, the sting was harsh and made her eyes water, Officer Stephens was on her at once and before she knew it, was in the back of a police cruiser.
Everything happened so fast. She had been under arrest for 1 hour when she heard, her mother had killed herself, fastened a hose from the exhaust pipe into the car, and let life drift away. She sat in silence when she heard the news, then the voice spoke, the one who had been with her for a year or so now, it said; "you're next".