The End

Let's begin with the end.

Slowly he walked the floor, back against the shadows, into the light and the awkward silence. He paces himself, taking care not to walk too fast, nor to slow. It was his day. It had to be perfect.

            He reached the middle of his stage, and sat down. He made himself ready with a prayer, a simple bow, and a look up to heaven with warm eyes. Then he looked at his instrument. How grand, how beautiful, how perfect as it is. The edges were smooth, the gloss was even, and the keys, oh how perfect they were to the touch. He hit one.

   "Perfect," he muttered with a smile.

           It was, even for a perfectionist of his magnitude. And it was all in his hands. All he needed to do is to play it.

            He placed his hands on the keys, and let out a sigh. Relax, you can do this.

    He started to play a soft, sweet melody. It was carrying him away, inch by inch from his chair.

            Silence. He could feel his mind calm, but his heart was beating fast. He continued on.

            He played that sweet short verse again. It was sending him to tears just from the beginning.

    Gertrude, I'm sorry...

            He paused once more, holding back the tears in his eyes.

    I know you're mad, but please, I didn't do what you think I did. On our wedding day I promised you I would always love you. Gertrude, I love you still...

            He played a sweet melody that carried him farther still. His tears were at the verge of falling. He felt his music. He felt the keys, as if they are playing his fingers, not his fingers playing them. His verse was fast, and he felt the music driving wind around him, giving that chill you get when you’re about to die.

            

    "If I’m going to die tonight, I better make the most out of it," he whispered to his head.

    

            His verse grew softer, then louder, in such a fluid manner he felt weak inside. Worse, he kept hearing things inside his head.

    I never wanted this. Please Gertrude, forgive me. If you can't forgive me now, I have a favor to ask of you. I know this is short notice, but...

   His stomach was turning as he bobbed back and forth to the tune of his piece. He turned away as he felt every note, and he saw a figure coming from the backstage.

    I hope you could come to my recital tomorrow...

           

   A woman emerged from the darkness of the backstage. She did not enter the stage itself, but she came close. The pianist caught sight of her. He was filled with such overwhelming emotion that he tried to hide the shaking of his knees and hands.

   I have a piece I'd really like you to hear. A piece, I wrote for you. This maybe the last favor I ask of you so, if you could come, please do...

          

   He was careful, he made sure that he made no mistakes. It was hard, for his arms and hands were shaking. Nervousness set in. What once was emotional but relaxing was now nerve-wracking all of a sudden. His mind was in a state of chaos. There were so many thoughts running through his head, things he did not worry about before. Time, happiness, sadness…

Death.

Only now did he feel the sadness of his song. Only now did he feel the pain of losing her forever.

I hope this apology can make you come back to me...

He knew deep inside, as he looked at her, that the piece he was playing now was not enough to pass off as apology for the woman. There was too much hurt. He was saddened by this.

He felt so much sadness that he struggled to continue with the piece’s quick tempo and intricate tone patterns. His hands stopped playing, only his mind played. Every pianist knows that’s bad. A pianist should play his piece with his fingers, not with his mind. For the mind is the center of all problems, it’s hard to play with so many thoughts.

Please, Gertrude, come back. Please don't leave me like this, not in the middle of everything we've worked so hard for...

He was still struggling when the woman went back behind the stage. The pianist’s world collapsed.

I hope you could find it in your heart to forgive me.

Sadness consumed him so much he was still struggling with the softer, slower part of his piece.

I miss you...

He felt rejected, but still he played the song, now with both eyes closed, and tears falling down to the keys of his piano.

I love you...

He couldn’t bear so much emotion. As he played, he prayed.

Always and forever.

He was still whispering his prayer when a loud gunshot was heard.

Loving you still,

He fell to the side, and onto the floor.

Anthony.

The pianist was shot dead.