The Minor Chords
The piano player struck a chord that woke the beast in my bone marrow.
He was surprised to find he had not died - that he had only dreamed he was dead for it was cold and dark for so long he had given up on the search for light. As the piano player struck that strange chord, he lost everyone, except me. I was the only one that knew that he meant to do that. But to the masses it was an ugly sound, someone suffering, being tortured. I knew that sound. It was all too familiar to me. I knew him more than anyone else. I felt his loneliness with him, we were alone together. It was our own Tango, not for anyone else. They experienced dissonance. They were sure something went wrong, he made a mistake. They were waiting, holding on to a thin piece of thread hoping they would be connected again. They were lost. They were waiting for the happy predictable sounds that they were used to, always knowing what came next. It was unbearable but he just went deeper and deeper into chaos, his fingers waltzing with the black keys until they committed suicide on top of the white keys