Hi everyone!
I posted this a couple of moonths ago with plans to turn it into an actual short story rather than some random metaphor thing. That didn't happen. I found another outlet though, just as long as I keep it under 300 words.
Currently, It's 290. I'd be glad for comments, but I only have another 10 words to play with. It's a fun game really.
enjoy
Thoughts about Pianos
There are some cheat instruments in the world, and surely the piano is one of them. That isn’t to say that it’s an easy beast to master, only that a piano stool is a safer place to sit than the string section of the average orchestra.
If life could be a piano, it would somehow be easier to live. With these guidelines; these staves and signatures, showy snippets of Italian and rashes of black dots dictated centuries ago, even the most imposing of instruments can be conquered. That smug look which draws across the face of the musician only confirms as much.
When life is a piano, each day, each decision is a flat, or a sharp, or a natural. Black or white. High or low. Even in the deepest melancholy of a minor key there are rules to adhere to. Without keyboard, there are no jumps to make from one dulcet tone to the next. There is no reprieve, not even the option to call it jazz if all else fails. Because jazz on keys or jazz on strings, all of it is honourable.
On the subject of strings, life is no guitar either. Think of frets. They are unavoidable, they are irrefutable, and there isn’t a fret in the world which wants to see you fail. A chord on a guitar begs to be played. Even if you can’t tell that to the busker with the blue hands, the one whose voice doesn’t carry in the sad songs and whose tone isn’t true enough in the happy ones, guitars are easy.
Life is hard.
If you put a finger wrong, all is ruined. The sound you make is suddenly meaningless.
Life then, is a cello.
