The Pianist (Standalone)
Mar 24, 2013 20:21:52 GMT -5
Post by Verbal, Lord of The Dreadfort on Mar 24, 2013 20:21:52 GMT -5
It was cold out, but it was somehow colder in the metal dumpster I was now fishing through. But there was nothing here, on good days there was nothing here, so I don't know why I even kept trying. Because my sisters were hungry, and as piercing as starvation was, watching it hurt my sisters was even worse. And so I searched through the grime and refuse in the vain hopes of finding something even vaguely edible. But there was nothing, nothing but maggoty bread not even the beggers would take.
The smell, I had gotten used to it, it almost seemed familiar, pleasing. It was my smell, what I smelt like, even if it was the smell of trash.
I could not take out tesserae, I was too young, far too young. I was only seven, and I was the oldest. But there was nothing in this dumpster, I would have to go somewhere else. I climbed out of the dumpster, over the tall side, and my small, frail, emaciated body fell on the snow covered ground harshly with a thud and a grunt. I used my arms to push myself up and look in front of me.
There were feet.
I looked up and saw an old man with a wrinkled face with freckles all over it. It almost looked like the face of one of those dogs with the messed up faces, but you could tell he was a man. His hair was grey, with only slightly black tones left in it. He looked to be somewhere in his late sixties. Quite an accomplishment by our district's standards, and he didn't look hungry or sick.
He just looked like a normal, elderly man. A tall one. And he scared me.
I stared up at him, too frightened to try and run away. There was a certain look in his eyes that I recognized, pity. But not the pity I was used to, not contemptuous or high handed, more like he just felt plain bad for me. And who could blame him? Here I was, a seven year old girl who looked like a boy (especially with my long, dirty, unkempt, frowzy hair, one of the only real indicators of my gender, tucked into my ratty black cap,) wearing tattered clothes in a district which primarily produced textiles, smelling for the world like garbage and desperation, cold, frightened, and nearly broken.
Nearly.
"And what is it you were doing in there, my little friend?" he said in an odd accent I didn't recognize.
"Looking for something." I told him breathlessly.
"And that would be?" he responded.
"Diner." I replied.
His screwed up his eyes and looked me over, the pity not having left them quite yet.
"You know, there are far better ways of obtaining food than sifting through the trash."
He raised his eyebrow knowingly.
"Or paying for it." he added quietly.
I looked at him, the surprise of first seeing him there still plastered onto my face. I understood what he meant.
"I can't steal." I told him.
"Can't or won't?" he replied.
I though for a moment.
"Can't." I said finally.
He smiled at me.
"Good. That I can remedy. Tell me, little one, what can you do?"
This required more thought. What could I do?
"I could beat you at cards." I say with a little bit of cheer. Cheer wasn't something I was used to feeling or displaying.
"That's not saying much. I'm not a very good card player. Can you do anything else?" I replied affably, with a wide smile on his face, his narrow eyes closed completely now.
I thought for another moment.
"I can play piano." I told him. He laughed.
"Are you lying?" he asked, his smile still sewn onto his face. I became indignant.
"No!" I told him, annoyed. Why couldn't I? Because I looked like this?
"Fine." He said, still smiling. It put me at ease. It almost made you feel like you were talking to your grandpa, even though I had never met either of mine.
"Show me." he demanded playfully.
I looked at him, incredulous.
"How?" I asked. He offered me his hand and helped me up off the floor.
"Follow me." he said, turning to walk out of the alleyway, into the streets I was sure both of us had just come from, he and I. I don't really know why, but something told me to follow this old man. It was better than swimming around in an empty dumpster some more.
I ran after him and we walked through the streets together, into a part of the district I was unfamiliar with. He lead me through an old wooden doorway into some deserted apartments. We took a run down apartment elevator to the fourth floor, where he lead me down a hallway into a large, empty looking apartment.
He closed the door behind him as I inspected the apartment. It was large, larger than the home my family of seven and I occupied. But it was decidedly empty looking, with barely any furniture inside. It was also cold and very drafty, and it did not surprise me the old man did not take off his coat while we were inside.
"This is all yours?" I asked him, my breath stolen away.
He smiled grandfatherly at me.
"Yes, all mine, little one. Now go into the living room and see what you find!" He said like he was directing me towards a Christmas present. I don't know why, but something about his tone excited me, made me with of receiving presents on Christmas morning, and I hurried on off to the largest room in the house.
It was less austere than the rest of the house, but not by much. It had a dusty old, mold green couch and a carpet with odd, symmetrical patterns on it which covered a large part of the middle ground floor. There were two large bookcases on the far right wall, filled to the brim with tomes, mostly without names on the spines. And sitting in front of me, in the corner directly adjacent to the entrance I was standing in, was a large piano.
I ran over to it and felt it's finish, pale colored wood that seemed far less new, like it had seen it's fair share of usage, but I didn't care. I had never really gotten the chance to play one like this, only a few times, because my family couldn't afford one. My hands slid over the smooth, at times slightly dented wood, and my face was set in stone with wonderment.
I didn't even notice the old man was leaning the doorway, that smile back on his face again. For some obscure reason, it filled me with warmth.
"Go on. Play." he motioned to the piano.
I took my seat and felt out the keys, getting a feel for the range of the piano, my fingers being familiarized with the feel of the instrument. It was so much larger than me, but I could play.
And that was enough.
My fingers glided over the keys, and I began to play.
The music filled the room, flawless and resonating. My fingers moved swiftly and in concert, dexterous, agile, not missing a single key. The tempo of the music gradually rose, and the pace of my fingers increased still. Until at last it had reached it's crescendo, and slowly the rhythm slowed down until at last the final note was played.
I looked over at the old man, his smile had disappeared. He stared at me with wonderment.
"Where does a child crawling through dumpsters learn to do that?" he asked in amazement.
"Nowhere. I've never played more than a handful of times." I tell him, my gaze still locked on the beautiful instrument before me I could never in a million years afford.
"The music just comes to me." I tell him.
He stares at me for a moment, as if to take what I just said in, and then stops leaning in the doorway, motioning for me to come with him.
"Come on, little boy. I want to teach you something."
"I'm a girl." I told him.
He stopped dead in his tracks and looked back towards me. His eyebrows shot up, but then gradually came back down.
"And does the girl have a name?" he asked me.
"Zelda." I told him.
"Zelda." He took his gaze away from me and nodded slightly, as if confirming in his head that this was indeed my name.
"I'm Brint." he said, now once again walking away from me, going slowly towards the door.
"Come now, I want to show you something." he said again.
I got up from my seat on the piano stool and walked briskly to catch up with him.
"What would that be?" I parrot him.
"I'm going to teach you my craft." he said vaguely, opening the door.
"Are you going to teach me how to steal?" I ask bluntly.
"I'm going to teach you how to live, little one." he responded as the two of us left the apartment and he closed the door behind us, leaving the piano to sit idle once again in silence.
The smell, I had gotten used to it, it almost seemed familiar, pleasing. It was my smell, what I smelt like, even if it was the smell of trash.
I could not take out tesserae, I was too young, far too young. I was only seven, and I was the oldest. But there was nothing in this dumpster, I would have to go somewhere else. I climbed out of the dumpster, over the tall side, and my small, frail, emaciated body fell on the snow covered ground harshly with a thud and a grunt. I used my arms to push myself up and look in front of me.
There were feet.
I looked up and saw an old man with a wrinkled face with freckles all over it. It almost looked like the face of one of those dogs with the messed up faces, but you could tell he was a man. His hair was grey, with only slightly black tones left in it. He looked to be somewhere in his late sixties. Quite an accomplishment by our district's standards, and he didn't look hungry or sick.
He just looked like a normal, elderly man. A tall one. And he scared me.
I stared up at him, too frightened to try and run away. There was a certain look in his eyes that I recognized, pity. But not the pity I was used to, not contemptuous or high handed, more like he just felt plain bad for me. And who could blame him? Here I was, a seven year old girl who looked like a boy (especially with my long, dirty, unkempt, frowzy hair, one of the only real indicators of my gender, tucked into my ratty black cap,) wearing tattered clothes in a district which primarily produced textiles, smelling for the world like garbage and desperation, cold, frightened, and nearly broken.
Nearly.
"And what is it you were doing in there, my little friend?" he said in an odd accent I didn't recognize.
"Looking for something." I told him breathlessly.
"And that would be?" he responded.
"Diner." I replied.
His screwed up his eyes and looked me over, the pity not having left them quite yet.
"You know, there are far better ways of obtaining food than sifting through the trash."
He raised his eyebrow knowingly.
"Or paying for it." he added quietly.
I looked at him, the surprise of first seeing him there still plastered onto my face. I understood what he meant.
"I can't steal." I told him.
"Can't or won't?" he replied.
I though for a moment.
"Can't." I said finally.
He smiled at me.
"Good. That I can remedy. Tell me, little one, what can you do?"
This required more thought. What could I do?
"I could beat you at cards." I say with a little bit of cheer. Cheer wasn't something I was used to feeling or displaying.
"That's not saying much. I'm not a very good card player. Can you do anything else?" I replied affably, with a wide smile on his face, his narrow eyes closed completely now.
I thought for another moment.
"I can play piano." I told him. He laughed.
"Are you lying?" he asked, his smile still sewn onto his face. I became indignant.
"No!" I told him, annoyed. Why couldn't I? Because I looked like this?
"Fine." He said, still smiling. It put me at ease. It almost made you feel like you were talking to your grandpa, even though I had never met either of mine.
"Show me." he demanded playfully.
I looked at him, incredulous.
"How?" I asked. He offered me his hand and helped me up off the floor.
"Follow me." he said, turning to walk out of the alleyway, into the streets I was sure both of us had just come from, he and I. I don't really know why, but something told me to follow this old man. It was better than swimming around in an empty dumpster some more.
I ran after him and we walked through the streets together, into a part of the district I was unfamiliar with. He lead me through an old wooden doorway into some deserted apartments. We took a run down apartment elevator to the fourth floor, where he lead me down a hallway into a large, empty looking apartment.
He closed the door behind him as I inspected the apartment. It was large, larger than the home my family of seven and I occupied. But it was decidedly empty looking, with barely any furniture inside. It was also cold and very drafty, and it did not surprise me the old man did not take off his coat while we were inside.
"This is all yours?" I asked him, my breath stolen away.
He smiled grandfatherly at me.
"Yes, all mine, little one. Now go into the living room and see what you find!" He said like he was directing me towards a Christmas present. I don't know why, but something about his tone excited me, made me with of receiving presents on Christmas morning, and I hurried on off to the largest room in the house.
It was less austere than the rest of the house, but not by much. It had a dusty old, mold green couch and a carpet with odd, symmetrical patterns on it which covered a large part of the middle ground floor. There were two large bookcases on the far right wall, filled to the brim with tomes, mostly without names on the spines. And sitting in front of me, in the corner directly adjacent to the entrance I was standing in, was a large piano.
I ran over to it and felt it's finish, pale colored wood that seemed far less new, like it had seen it's fair share of usage, but I didn't care. I had never really gotten the chance to play one like this, only a few times, because my family couldn't afford one. My hands slid over the smooth, at times slightly dented wood, and my face was set in stone with wonderment.
I didn't even notice the old man was leaning the doorway, that smile back on his face again. For some obscure reason, it filled me with warmth.
"Go on. Play." he motioned to the piano.
I took my seat and felt out the keys, getting a feel for the range of the piano, my fingers being familiarized with the feel of the instrument. It was so much larger than me, but I could play.
And that was enough.
My fingers glided over the keys, and I began to play.
The music filled the room, flawless and resonating. My fingers moved swiftly and in concert, dexterous, agile, not missing a single key. The tempo of the music gradually rose, and the pace of my fingers increased still. Until at last it had reached it's crescendo, and slowly the rhythm slowed down until at last the final note was played.
I looked over at the old man, his smile had disappeared. He stared at me with wonderment.
"Where does a child crawling through dumpsters learn to do that?" he asked in amazement.
"Nowhere. I've never played more than a handful of times." I tell him, my gaze still locked on the beautiful instrument before me I could never in a million years afford.
"The music just comes to me." I tell him.
He stares at me for a moment, as if to take what I just said in, and then stops leaning in the doorway, motioning for me to come with him.
"Come on, little boy. I want to teach you something."
"I'm a girl." I told him.
He stopped dead in his tracks and looked back towards me. His eyebrows shot up, but then gradually came back down.
"And does the girl have a name?" he asked me.
"Zelda." I told him.
"Zelda." He took his gaze away from me and nodded slightly, as if confirming in his head that this was indeed my name.
"I'm Brint." he said, now once again walking away from me, going slowly towards the door.
"Come now, I want to show you something." he said again.
I got up from my seat on the piano stool and walked briskly to catch up with him.
"What would that be?" I parrot him.
"I'm going to teach you my craft." he said vaguely, opening the door.
"Are you going to teach me how to steal?" I ask bluntly.
"I'm going to teach you how to live, little one." he responded as the two of us left the apartment and he closed the door behind us, leaving the piano to sit idle once again in silence.
