unFRIENDLY RIVALRY: countryhumans

Deaf Melody

NFM, Wroclaw

Fingers dancing rhythmically across the white and black keys. Organised chaos. Expertly executed with a finesse unlike any other. Each one of the delighting sounds digging into his brain, Notes echoing as if to call out for his deepest emotions and notions, buried somewhere deep within his mind.

Quiet, yet so vocal.

The sounds resounded through the spacious hall, bouncing off the great walls, as if trying to fill the enormous void that was the emptiness of this place. Bright sunshine tore through the narrow windows.

He's been practicing all morning, woke up at 5 am and haven't left this place ever since breakfast even though it was now long past one in the afternoon. The Pole simply lost the track of time, becoming so fixated on his task that was improving his long-forgotten and impaired by the lack of practice piano skills.
It's been so long...

When was the last time he dared to touch this damned thing? Probably sometime during 1920's, when he was having his nostalgic episodes, still clinging onto everything that he had lost and firmly believing that he can fix what simply cannot be repaired or brought back into his life through sheer determination alone. That he can just reverse the time and undo all hurt. As if it was possible to just go back to square one.

Foolish hopes.

Lovely little lies he told himself.

As cynical as life made him back then, at least he wasn't afraid of feeling... At least not as much as he is now.

Maybe the 1940's were his breaking point, or maybe they were just the final nail in the coffin where he laid all of the childish hopes of happiness at rest. Those same hopes that were birthed the first time he played with someone by his side - a promise of new life, where he could finally lead a normal lifestyle with a new, small family of his own.

One instrument. So many memories.

But sometimes, it's better not to remember at all.

It was hard to suppress memories when the air was so still, so silent, so harrowing in its constant cries of loneliness whistling into his ear.

Every passing hour, every mispressed key, every off-note made him more frustrated.

All this struggling, fighting against his own mind and disobedient fingers - This is his Saturday?

Usually, the bicoloured country would just spend the weekend completely alone; starting off with a morning coffee at 6, catching up on the news, maybe going to some quiet church for a couple of minutes on a hot summer day, where it was always cold and he could just sit and stare at the old paintings and colourful stained glass, then come back to wherever he was staying for the night, read some book that would distract him for an hour or two more then once again retreat back into paperwork.

All of this hussle and what for?

So he can play piano with that brat that likes to belittle him whenever he felt like it?

Did Germany even like him, really? Or did he just hang out with him out of pity?

Why did he even ask him if they could practice together in the place? Is he insane?

He had to be, with the amount of effort he put into something that he grew to hate overtime and avoided at all costs, and it was all for Germany.

All of this, just to see that damn condescending, irritating, bright, lovable smile...

So sweet,
So addictive..?

To think that Germany of all people could make him go soft...

Unbelievable. It was truly incomprehensible how much he started to care for his annoyingly close trading partner and past enemy. Germany was now more of a close friend than anything... Even though something about the term 'friend' didn't sit quite right with Poland, he himself was unsure why that was the case.