Keys

 

Let’s pretend that the narrator has a camera. He or she chooses to focus it on the heavens above, thinking that it is the most appropriate scene for the start of this story.

 

The sun has just set, leaving behind a deep blue sky tinged with orange on the horizon, dotted here and there with stars. Suddenly, the camera changes its angle; it is now focused on the impressive façade of a colonial-looking townhouse.

 

Yet despite the antiquity of the design, the house is quite new.

 

Boldly, the narrator enters the vicinity and proceeds directly to a certain part of the house. He or she passes an unlighted room, and for a while, there is nothing but darkness. Once they reached a lighted room, the camera zooms in on the face of a girl.

 

It then moves back to reveal a splendid sitting room. The girl is poised on a divan, watching intently a young man on the piano.

The camera moves in on him, and the silence is broken. He is playing Mozart’s Piano Concerto 21 in C major, not that the narrator really knows it. Apparently, he or she enjoys it for he or she lingered on the young man until he finished before turning back to the girl.

 

She was smiling at the young man, and he smiled back at her.

 

“You were amazing,” she said to him.

 

“And in a few month’s time, you will be as good as me, maybe even better,” he replied.

 

“I don’t know about that. Maybe I will, if you’ll stay and teach me.”

 

“You know I cannot.”

 

“But why?”

 

“I need time to be alone, to learn. There are so many things that I still don’t know.”

 

A few minutes of silence reign after this statement, during which time the girl moves across the room to sit beside him in the piano bench. She lifts the lid and began to play.

 

At first, the narrator refuses to put back the sound, battling with unseen entities begging him or her to do so. Finally, he or she relents, and it could be heard that the girl is playing Beethoven’s Piano Sonata.

 

The haunting, slowly building melodic passage abruptly stops when the girl’s father noisily enters the room.

 

The girl looks up at him. The camera once again zooms in on her face. There is no denying that she isn’t pleased.

 

“Go, little one. You must not keep your father waiting,” he says to her.

 

“Will I ever see you again?”

 

“Yes, of course. In due time.”

 

“When will that be?”

 

“You’ll know.”

 

The camera races backward to capture the fleeting embrace the girl gives him before turning to the father. He was saying something, but no one could hear it. There was something wrong with the sounds. As the narrator grapples with the device, the girl goes to her father. Nothing could be seen but the floor and her shuffling feet.

 

It took her quite a long time to walk across the room. By then, the narrator has fixed the sounds and the gentle purring of a car engine could be heard. The father said something to the girl that made her stomp out of the room in rage.

 

A few moments later, a car door slammed shut. After that, awkward silence.

 

“It is a mistake to love one so young,” said the father.

 

“It is. It breaks your heart to watch them grow up and turn into self-centered beasts.”

 

“That’s not what I meant.”

 

The young man looks up at him. The camera reveals the surprised look on his face.

 

“Stay away from her. She’s too young for you.”

 

“You misunderstand. My affection for her is that of a teacher for his pupil.”

 

“Then keep it that way.”

 

“I’m afraid I cannot.”

 

The father raises his brows.

 

“Tomorrow, I will go,” he continues. “And you will never hear from me again, ever.”

 

“Does she know?”

 

The young man shakes his head.

 

“Good.”

 

He then turns his back on the young man and goes out of the room. The narrator follows him to the car. The father slips behind the steering wheel, barely glancing at his daughter beside him as he drives away.

 

The narrator has slipped into the backseat. Filming the scene from behind, all one could see are the headlights of passing vehicles, streetlamps and the occasional traffic lights and their silhouettes, and the only sound is the humdrum of a city that never sleeps.

 

No conversation occurs between the two, but the narrator prefers it that way. It gives him or her an excuse to go back to the young man.

 

He was still sitting the piano bench, just like when the narrator left him.

 

His expression betrays the thoughts raging inside his head. But the narrator, being merely the cameraman, could not reveal these to the reader.

 

For a long time, the camera hovered about him. It turned this way and that, showing his troubled countenance in a hundred different angles. Suddenly, he stands up.

 

The narrator is knocked off his or her feet and the camera clatters to the floor. As the room begins to fade out, the young man is seen picking up a picture of the girl. And although somewhat distorted, the reader could hear him say, “Goodbye for now.”

Reviews

[El Suplexo]

It's a good start I think, but I don't know about these 'stage directions' so to speak. You're kinnda mixing metaphors, especially with this line "His expression betrays the thoughts raging inside his head. But the narrator, being merely the cameraman, could not reveal these to the reader." How can there be a camera if the person experiencing this is a 'reader' ? I understand you are trying to do something different and interesting, and it is; it just doesn't work very well with this peticular piece. It looses something, changes the tone in a way I don't think you want.

[Spat Queen]

The images expressed in this is effective but I do have to agree it is mildly confusing. There is a potential for something in this that I can't quite put my finger on. It does leave the reader with the sound of a note played out of tune, which I find rather interesting. Although, I also would like to make a point that it does state to introduce a suspension of disbelieve that is monumentally origional by saying, /Let's pretend.../. There is a genius to that. I love the title.