As the Crow Flies

Unfinished

Fundy opened his eyes and was greeted with the morning light that broke through his window. He groaned and pulled his pillow over his head in an attempt to gain back his sleepiness, but it didn't work. He sighed and sat up straight, throwing the pillow across the room and rubbing his eyes.

He jumped out of bed and trudged to the bathroom. He stared at his messy reflection for a few moments before grabbing a toothbrush and brushing his teeth. After finishing, he spat into the sink, wiped his mouth, and took another look at himself in the mirror.

His hair was still a mess, but he didn't feel like brushing it. He'd been wearing the same clothes for a few days now and needed to get some laundry done. He'd been busy working on a few projects lately, mainly pranks and red stone experiments, but as the days started getting longer and warmer, he felt himself slipping into a less motivated state. Spring was always the worst season in his mind. Every spring brought along memories that he didn't want to deal with or try to face.

Fundy grabbed a towel and threw it over the mirror. Then he shuffled out of the bathroom and stood at the top of his staircase. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and looked down at the organized clutter of his living space. He scanned the room, hoping to see something that would catch his eye and ignite some sort of passion or excitement in him.

Then he spotted the piano.

Fundy placed a hand on the railing and slowly started to make his way down stairs. The piano was covered in music sheets. The last time he played it must've been months ago. He reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped over a few boxes and half-finished devices that were in his way. When he reached the piano, he pushed the sheet music onto the floor to reveal the black and white keys underneath. He sat himself down and stared at the instrument. He took his right hand and played an F#. Then he thunked the A key four times and the B thrice. It was something his dad had taught him a long time ago. Those Sunday evenings at the piano with their uniforms put away and everyone quiet after a long day of fighting. The notes came flooding back into his memory.

Fundy brought his left hand up and played chords in harmony with the melody. He shifted his position and started to really get into it. There was so much pain attached to this song. So much devastation and heartache that went into it. The notes fell like rain from his fingertips. Fundy closed his eyes and locked his jaw as the music sent a waterfall of memories and emotion onto him. He felt himself getting lost in the music. He fled from the rhythm, playing faster and faster, running from the past, racing to the future, a fate of failure he knew all too well. He played and played until he couldn't take it anymore and he smashed the keys in a jumbled up chorus.

He couldn't remember a time when he was able to play that song in its entirety. The country that founded it, and the man who wrote it, they were both gone before he ever finished learning.