Summary

A pianist grapples with his inner demons and the absence of alcohol, finding solace and strength in his music.

Abstract

The narrative captures a pianist's intense internal struggle as he attempts to perform without the crutch of alcohol. His hands, initially feeling like strangers to him, eventually find harmony with the piano, allowing the music to flow naturally. The piece is a reflection on the man's journey to overcome his addiction and the power of music to heal and empower. It is part of a serialized story, with each installment building upon the last to reveal the full narrative of the pianist's battle with his past and his path to redemption.

Opinions

The pianist views his hands as separate entities, indicating a deep disconnect likely caused by his struggle with alcoholism.
The act of playing the piano is personified, suggesting a therapeutic relationship between the musician and his art.
The absence of the whiskey glass is a significant theme, highlighting the man's efforts to perform sober.
The audience's reaction ("curious eyes") and the pianist's internal dialogue ("Just breathe," "We can do this") underscore the vulnerability and pressure of performing under personal duress.
The moment the music starts, there is a sense of triumph and self-realization, as the pianist acknowledges his ability to perform without the need for alcohol ("I could do it. I don’t need a drink.").
The story is presented as an ongoing narrative, inviting readers to follow the pianist's journey through subsequent parts, indicating a serialized storytelling approach.

When The Music Comes

A man’s struggle to overcome his inner demons is cut short.

Fingers resting lightly on the keys, I waited for the music.

For the flood to come. For the melody to warm this hollow space. For the second time in my life, they felt like strangers, sneering and silent.

I reached for the absent whiskey glass — snatching my hand back as the old habit burned.

The seconds stretched and twisted.

I brushed the keys and begged them, caressed my fingers across the grain of the old wood, pleading at its soul.

“It’s still me.”

I felt curious eyes crawling over the pianist frozen at his post.

Just breathe.

I reset my position—memory rearranging my hands and long fingers. In my mind, the ivory whites stretched and grew, silky to the point of feeling wet.

Inert and waiting.

“We can do this,” I whispered.

A few discordant notes tumbled forth, and the murmur hushed. I held my breath and plunged inward.

Now or never.

Letting go, the notes came to my fingertips and took hold of their partners and finally, the dance began, and the music fell out of me.

I could do it. I don’t need a drink.

My eyes were still closed when I was thrown from my seat.

A story in response to our weekly prompt: Follow Your Nose

It’s part of a longer story, a Mini Novella in Flash. Each week I’ll add another piece until the final story reveals what has happened when the end is in sight.

Part 1 | Part 2 | ▶️ Part 3