The Piano, by Aryan Sharma

Imagine a piano, whose beautiful tones can bring joy, sadness and grief: this is a story of such a piano which floats back the memories of me.

A man, with wrinkles everywhere, every moment shaking, his hands were so fragile, he couldn’t touch the notes on his piano. He grew from his young age and this person thought it was a punishment and a curse that can’t be broken. His flabby cheeks got weak every time he thought about his bad memories that made him distraught. Some days he enjoyed playing the piano; others he couldn’t even look at it. His name was Tom and that person was me.

The first thing I can remember in my days of sadness and happiness, is when I got married to the most beautiful lady in the world, Angelina. When I first laid my eyes on Angelina, it was like two swans falling in love while nature plays love songs. The only thing that I didn’t like was that Angelina had cancer.

As I play the haunting tunes on the piano, I could visualise my wife in hospital. My sight was blurry as tears in my eye started running down my cheek. My sense of hearing started to break as screaming patients started to yell. The beeps of the machine stopped. My wife died.

Returning to the present, out of the past, I saw my cherished gift, the gold ring my beloved Angelina gave me. The rain outside, hitting my ears, was pouring like the tears in my heart.

It was my wife’s funeral. She got cremated and I could hear Angelina’s screams flowing the the ashes. I was lost without her.

I was all by my own, had nobody with me. It was a punishment because I haven’t died but lot’s of people died because of me. I felt down hearted. My son had died in war, my and only son.

The ending of the piano was like the end of my heart. It was like I was the only person in the world. It was like the end of time for me.