Today's prompt is to find a craigslist add and write a story on it. I choose something that happens quite often in the music world. Over zealous buying of instruments, especially large expensive ones. I hope you enjoy the story, the link to the add is below.
I am part of the furniture now, an
expensive uncomfortable sofa. No one has played me in years. Now only an orchid
rests on top. How could this happen? All I wanted was to be played in front of
an audience, for my sweet melody to be heard. Once upon a time I had soft
fingers fall on my ivory keys, now only soft petals. Where did that girl go?
She used to love my sound at her command, able to recite songs by memory that
could change a man’s heart. She knew the power but decided to leave it behind.
Finding new things to love and cherish. She forgot the beauty that came from my
fat exterior, only seeing me as a passing fancy.
I haven’t seen her in some time.
Only seeing her mother that bought me some years ago. I believe she went to
college, to become wise. What about the pursuits that make her balanced? Music
is said to help the brain in many different ways. But no one really believes
that because it is all under the surface. The effort needed for the full effect
takes years to master. Many just don’t have the time. The computer and TV brainwash
them into shells of their former selves.
I can only wait and hope for one day for someone who will spend the many
hours needed to improve.
I have lost my own sound, surprised
at its ugliness. My stings have gotten old and gone out of tune. My music can
no longer be played like it used to. Dust collects on my hammers that long to
strike their strings. I gave up long ago to someone playing Bach or Strauss,
and only hope a stranger will decide to touch my keys for a moment. Simple
gestures speak volumes to me. The mother still dusts the top and waters the
orchid that rests there and then goes about her day forgetting I exist. Please
anyone save me from this prison. I want to live again.
Then I meet
you. You were interesting at first,
standing there studying me. It felt like you were looking into my soul, seeing
me as I truly was, a neglected baby grand piano who only wants to be played. I
was scared that you wouldn’t like me, I was out of tune still and no one had
touched me in months. You pulled out my stool and opened the cover to my keys.
Sitting you began to play, at first it was just scales: C, E flat, G. You
couldn’t see it but I blushed at every out of place note. But you were smooth
and calm as you cycled through them. You stopped for a moment, thought for a
moment and began to play Bach’s Aria. It was sweet and felt good as you glided
over my ivory. It felt good again to be played with such ease and grace. This
house once again was filled with my music. When you finished you closed the
keyboard once again. You stared for a moment, looked back at the mother who was
standing there, and said: “I’ll take it.”
With that I
was no longer neglected, I was played everyday by my new master and the
students he teaches. Not everyone is as gentle, but at least I am used and
loved like a piano should be.
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