Sitting down, the stool wasn’t as comfortable as he expected it to be. His hands raised instinctively, his training bored into his skull. White as bone, the ivory keys stretched out before him, remaining resolute despite their disuse. It had been a while. A long time, in fact, since he had heard the strings of the piano play their familiar tunes and melodies.

As if spider legs, his fingers were hovering above the keys, suspended. He couldn’t bear to press down on the cold keys. Couldn’t bear the silence to be penetrated by the piercing drone. Silence was all that had swamped him, surrounded him, since the departure of his dear parents.

Self sufficient and independent, he managed to avoid his grief as nothing overtly reminded him of their absence. Apart from one object, however. The piano. On its four sturdy legs it stood, keeping itself upright. Just like himself. Without visitors, and without anyone to bring out its beautiful tones. Just like himself.

There in the dining room it presented itself; he ate in his bedroom, anyway. Unlike the boy, the piano wasn’t solely surrounded by silence. It was surrounded by ghosts of the past. In phantasms he would see himself and his parents playing the mighty instrument. Joining in celebration as the melodies and chords united them.

Yet as he sat there, no memories came out to play, no ghosts surfaced. A deafening silence crushed on his ears and on his soul.

He shakily played a note.

It hung around him as it snaked from the piano. An intrusion, an interruption. Retracting his finger, the note died. Taking a deep breath, the boy closed his eyes.

Lip wavering, he allowed himself, just for a moment, to sit in the awkward and alarming atmosphere of having punctured the void. Disturbing the untouched silence felt a sin, something worth divine punishment.

Lowering both of his hands, he cleared his throat and let his fingers play.

Each pounding of the keys ruptured more and more of the comfortable nothing he had been stewing in. Each chord erupting the melodies thought forgotten; cries out into the void were carried on octaves and chords. Heart pounding alongside the crescendo, the boy felt his body writhing with terror.

Exposed to the abyss, the piano and the boy played a macabre melody, prized from an old memory. It was one of their favourites. Soon enough would come the duet. He didn’t particularly care, it wasn’t as though someone were listening to him. All that was on his mind was his unity with the piano. He held on so dearly in fear of falling apart.

Instead of slowing down or stopping, he careened through the piece, now afraid of the silence. A deep breath filtered through his lungs as he arrived at the precipice of the duet. The piece would soon be over. Inevitable loneliness pricked at the corner of his mind; he couldn’t keep the silence at bay forever.

Finally arriving at the bar of the duet, the boy froze, coming undone like a threatened deer. He was being pathetic. Unable to face his emotions, unable even to pick a piece for one. Relieving the piano of his touch, he got up, the silence slipping its claws back into his haunches.

A note played. Then another. Frozen to the spot, he listened as the bar in front of him played. The duet, it was playing. He didn’t dare to look around. Instead, he returned his fingers to their posts and joined back in with the tune.

A racing tempo, his heart beat wildly, but he didn’t stop playing. It was exactly as he remembered the piece was played. His mother used to hang onto some notes for a little longer, and let others go a little earlier. He wasn’t as horrified as he thought he should have been to hear that the piece followed his mother’s habits.

In unison, they played. It was the best rendition that was ever performed by him and his mother. Warmth flowed around him, yet he didn’t dare to look around. He didn’t want to ruin the moment, didn’t want to startle whatever was happening.

At last, came the final bar of the piece. Heart sinking, the piece slowed, disintegrating. The duet ended, and he was left to finish the final few notes. His finger hit the final key. The silence returned. Almost shaking, the boy slowly turned his head.

What he could only describe as disappointment entered his soul to see nothing there. For a very brief second, he could have sworn he saw a fleeting glimpse of his parent’s smiling faces in the reflection of the keys. But then he was truly alone.

At last, his grief caught up to him and ensnared him. Tears flowed like the River Styx and isolation yet again crushed in on him. But none of that would snuff the new flame that was lit in his heart, to help him navigate through the darkness of the silence. To help him battle the grief that was put off for far too long.

An Unexpected Duet was first written for Reddit, following a vague idea I had. I have tweaked it a little, only making a few grammatical alterations.

I don’t really know why I wanted to write about grief and playing the piano. I think I may have been inspired by a very tiny clip I saw of the Corpse Bride, where the main character (Victor, right?) plays the piano and the corpsed bride herself walks on over (I think).