You can't escape Death <Frans>

CHAPTER 25: Pianist

Sitting up, my colorless sheets fell from my shoulders and down by my side; my hands overlaid in my lap in such a calming way, as if I were not alive at all. The chilling music from the speaker above my head continued to play a dull hum of piano ever so slightly. The melodies of the treble clef contrasted with the counter chords of the bass clef. It was surprisingly soothing, the gentle rising on the bright, vibrant sun whilst I sat there, awake and listening.

It was like I had reached my peace, as the piano I had envisioned sat there, with the grand player at his bench. Dream of ivy-colored walls and the gorgeous velvet seats of the audience rows. His finger's dancing across the keys, emitting beautiful, low tones with the tips of his flanges. The music was slow and moving, as if it were trying to lull me asleep. He wept for the song of Death within his resonant echoes. I could see the gazing crowd, staring at the brilliant performance, entranced by the sheer tri-tones, ever so simple for the unknowing musician.

Repeating chords with the redundant vibrations created a simple, yet overwhelming appeal to his performance that was simply captivating to the ears. Upon hearing, the eyes grow heavy, laced with the glossy tears in your eyes as your skin chilled at the harmonious chords of Life.

My head bobbed slowly, as I stared off into the distance of the small room, envisioning a reality I could not yet clearly see. My hands threatened to reach out in front of me, as if I were in fact the pianist sitting upon the wooden chair. My fingers ached to run my fingers across the piano, emitting the song of Death. The song was no longer holding the life it bore moments ago, for it escaped into the open air of the greedy audience.

The people before me begged for more, taking my jars and stripping me of the happiness it once brought. A gift I gave to them, became a chore of the avaricious, vile humans. They were worthless, deplorable creatures. Taking what they want at no cost of sacrifice at all.

It was disgusting.

And yet, my fingers wouldn't stop, for I was the once entranced as well. Carried by the reverberations of my own sadness, I could not begin to think where to stop. Stuck in a trap, devoid of all known to man and woman—the never-ending cycle of emptiness continued to course through my entire body.

I could hear the faint sounds of a music box in the background, playing the rhythms along with me, as if I were merely the dancer, tied to the art of ballet to dance for the rest of eternity. I could see the reality.

Only an arms-length away. So close, yet so far out of reach.

It was not until I awoke from the dream of a reality, was when I had realized my entire arm had been extended before me, in such a manner to reach for the last bit of light. Wiping the tear of my last sorrow, I retracted it, laying it down upon my bed once more.

What was happening to me?

My hair, scattered across my face messily, remained unwashed and unkept from the past few nights in the hospital. My skin, now pale from the absence of sunlight, stood about as white as the sheets beneath me, and the roses that stood alive and fresh next to me bed stand.

My eyes drew heavy, as my eyes cowered in fear of the needles inside of my right arm. A clear, thick substance was entering my arm, while my blood exited through another syringe. The ecstasy feeling it was supposed to bring me felt absent, as it seemed that I didn't feel anything at all. My hands were numb, as my tired eyes stared at them in disbelief. As if they did not know their own owner.

They were strangers to their own body.

As if the girl who had cared for them through the entirety of their lives had meant nothing at all in their heartless souls.