Sound of Isolation (Short Story)

The light spark of the piano bounced around the room. The soft keys that created its beautiful etude reminded us exactly of what it was, a piece for practice.

How long I’d been sitting in front of this piano is beyond me.

Minutes, months, years, or even a decade. It didn’t matter.

As long as my mind wasn’t focused it was all wasted time.

The same droning keys rang as my finger bounced on that high A

I’d been staring out the window in front of me. The bright sunny flowers awoke the laughter of those that matched my age.

10.

Their joys were lost through the thick walls. It faded out, into almost nothing.

But once the piano was playing, that didn’t matter. Because the piano was always louder than their fun.

“My fun.” Was what they claimed I called it.

The word fun quickly lost all meaning, if it was ever there.

The little light sat atop the piano as it shined down onto the black ink. Each line of the stave repeated into the abyss until they blurred into one larger, threatening line. At that point, the notes had vanished from my sight. I didn’t even see them in my eyes, I just played and it was correct.

The robot I was.

And the shadow that leant over my shoulder, watching my fingers as they bounced.

Monitoring my back as I dared to let it rest.

Counting the beat.

Watching my tempo.

Looking for a mistake.

Wanting that reason to shout and scream.

But I couldn’t react. Reaction interrupted the music.

Mozart, Beethoven, Liszt, Rachmaninov.

All in preparation for that one day where the world watched. The one day where they wanted me to shine, for them. It was only a single day and an even shorter performance. But as soon as it ended, the repetition started again.

Because the next one was just around the corner.

The awards would pile up until there was no more room for praise.

Even if they engraved my name, they were never seen by my eyes.

Always out of reach, hidden up high where the adults could see them.

I was forced to tilt my neck till it snapped just to see my own accomplishments.

But it was the same neck that ended it.

A snap instead of a tilt.

Now the awards stand, collecting dust as the freedom overwashed me. Each tiny speck added to what reminded them until they were but a distant, repressed memory. 

Only remembered for what I never wanted to be.

Their mistakes had escaped from their mind, but perhaps they learnt. 

Perhaps they never made the same mistake again.