In English class, we were assigned to write Flash Fictions, or extremely short narratives. I wrote my Flash Fiction about a boy who, for one reason or another, had to stop playing the piano even though he loved it. The story depicts his return to his old music school, and his reunion with his “lost love”. I wrote this story after I had just quit the piano. I didn’t quit the piano by choice, but I needed the extra time to study for the SAT and concentrate on my Junior year school work. After the SAT is finished, I will continue my piano studies, but this flash fiction was a reflection of my wanting to continue practicing.
I really enjoyed this assignment because I got to explore storytelling with a topic that was relative to what I was feeling during that time. I really love reading fictional narratives so it was a really interesting experience getting to write one of my own.
It was raining that night. Pouring. Tears dripping from the eyes of the clouds above, falling down and smacking the gray, concrete street. A cold droplet pierced his cheek, and he looked up to feel the biting collisions on his face.
He had spent the day just like every other, staying late at the school library until dark had fallen without his realizing. Every other day he would have gone straight home, only to lock himself in his room to study more. But on this stormy day, he found himself just outside the old music school. What led him there, he did not know.
He peered into the window, and although the room was dark, he could faintly see the body of the old, stand-up piano. Dust and mothballs had collected, yet it was the same as it had been seven years ago.
His eyes blurred out, and when they refocused it was on his reflection in the window. How different his reflection had been the last time he had been there. He closed his eyes as he tried to remember what it had been like back in those days. The days he had taken for granted.
When he opened his eyes again, the mirage of a young boy had replaced his reflection in the window. The reflection stood there with piano books too heavy for his small arms, and a light of innocence in his youthful eyes. The reflection smiled gently behind the boy, and the boy curiously turned to look back.
But as he rotated around himself, the world and the city around him seemed to fade away and disappear. All that was left was the rain and the old, stand-up piano. Cautiously, he approached his once-familiar friend and traced his fingers along its rough edges and curves. A lot had changed since their last encounter; his height was now taller, and he no longer felt worthy to freely touch the ivory keys after neglecting them for so long. Yet he sat down and tentatively placed his stiff fingers on the keyboard. He feared it would be unfamiliar to him.
He pressed down gently, yet longingly. His fingertips yearned to touch the ivory keys again which were once family, but he was greeted with a sound like the welp of a dog left behind. Again he tried, hands stiff from years of neglect and the cold of the wind.
The piano welcomed him graciously.
And once again he looked up at the rain, and this time it felt like the stars descending.