keys
There he sits, I could never mistake that proud straightness of his shoulders. The arrogance in the way his body is set against the chair, almost apathetic. He sits there, he doesnt even bother to look down, of course, he knows too well. Everything is there in his mind, memorized. He might as well close his eyes and there will never be a mistake. And so his hands fly and his fingers dance. With such skill and something else, ah, grace. Even his fingers are graceful—-no, his fingers most of all. He touches the keys here and there and everywhere at once. Now it flows a bit slow, gentle, a drizzle. His confident strokes are calming, somehow, to watch. He pauses, I flinch. I can’t be caught, I had the impulse to bolt. But he stayed as he was. And the dance of his fingers continued on. But this time, more determined, almost mad, faster and faster, furious like plopping raindrops angry on concrete. We stayed there for a wrong time, I watched with fascination, although I couldn’t comprehend. I listened too—
—but there is no music—
Only the tap tap tap of the keyboard.
NIGHTNIGHT by DEDDY
