Those Fingers

The room is dark; the night is still. The words – play for me – hang in the air. It is not a request; it is an order and they both know it. Hanschen’s dark, fathomless eyes have Georg’s blue orbs locked in an unflinching stronghold. He makes a move towards the unlit candle; Hanschen grabs his arm –

and suddenly, Georg is cold, so very cold – a shiver creeps down his spine while a frisson of something unfamiliar – fear? – shoots through him. He finds himself powerless to resist or protest; against his will, he finds himself walking towards the piano. He can still feel Hanschen’s stare upon his back as he sits at the piano, leafing through a sheaf of music scores, deliberating, before picking up a piece he’s never played –

his fingers are poised over ivory keys and he presses down tentatively; the sudden, hesitant note dissolves into liquid nothingness as a stark silence engulfs the dark, uncertain night. He takes a deep breath, and with a startling, sudden frenzy of violence, throws his fingers on the keys; tapered fingers crashing and thrusting diligently upon ivory. Well-worn fingers caress, yet demand, as he coaxes the song out of the darkness. Simultaneously haunting and tragic, the music is seemingly wrought out of the empty blackness.

The music scares Georg; he’s never played anything like this in his life. He marvels at the power he’s unleashed; yet, he knows he is only worthy to bow down at the feet of the music he’s created. It is grandiose, and at the same time, raw and hungry. It makes him vulnerable; he sees his sins crashing around him, flashing before his eyes as his fingers continue their relentless assault upon the cold piano keys. Every note is a cry, every dissonant chord a plea; his iniquities threaten to engulf him. His soul is begging for a reprieve; he feels it burning within him with the intensity of crystal shattering into a million star-lit shards –

and he wrenches his fingers from the piano, panting and breathing heavily; he is shivering in his seat as his eyes fall shut –

Hanschen’s seen enough; the door falls shut with a soft click, and then, silence.

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