Creative Writing Collection

It's a Slow Fade

       Fingers delicate, gently gliding over black and white keys. Pressed. Released. Glide. Repeat.  A magical dance of sound, one partner never leaving the other, but also, never really together. He is patient, awaiting each second’s breath, an inhale and exhale, before easing the pads of his fingers into cold ivory. The dance is slow and graceful, producing melodies beyond anyone’s dreams. Then it quickens in a hurries flurry, keys pushed away to smite another set in gleeful rage.

       Silence.

       A high note, a higher note, a low note.

       Silence.

       Slowly, like the far off wave crashing of an ocean, clapping took over the room, replacing the sound of music. It started quietly, then rose, and rose even more until it reached a constant. The pianist stood, smiled, waved a white gloved hand, and bowed. He slipped the gloves off and tossed then each to two young concert goers in the audience; the youths were his most favorite to please.

       Keep the dream alive. Kindle, coddle the flame.

       Then he left the clamorous celebration behind, exiting stage right. His joy was gone. The smile he held vanished. Now, he seemed distressed as ever.

       “She wasn’t here,” he said quietly, eyes frantically searching the ground, as if she would appear. “She never not comes.”

       “Perhaps you missed her, sir.” His assistant patted his shoulder, but he jerked them away.

       “Her seat was filled with someone else. She did not come.” His tone was firm and sounded like the light crushing of gravel.

       The clapping had quieted as the audience was filing out. He still had a chance. Quickly, he ran out back to the stage, raising his hands. “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls!” This grabbed their attention, and the grand concert hall was filled once more.

       “Have you seem my wife? She was supposed to be here, but I cannot find her!”

       The message was clear; find Phoebe.

       They called her name out, each guest glancing to one another as if she would materialize before them. Nothing. The pianist’s heart sank to a low note. A low, flat note. She wasn’t here. The note travelled from his heart to his stomach, a burning cold settling within him.

       Something is wrong. Something he’s missing.

       And, horrifically, he knew.

       The fading had begun.