She had flung his arms
I think you meant her arms.
Then when you were writing dialoge you didn't hit enter when a new person started to write. But then again, I really liked it.
The audience gasped, for the chord sounded atrocious! Raymond bit his tongue and glanced at the keys. An A major chord. That wasn’t correct. He slowly lowered his third finger so the C sharp descended to C natural. The chord still wasn’t right. The C sharp had horribly ruined the ending.
Raymond’s eyes rose to the music on the piano. The notes were just notes now. There was no meaning behind them; no emotion anymore. They were just notes. No music could come from them.
A month ago, those notes had rang with excitement. A month ago, they had been loud and clear, playing a full orchestra with one piano. A month ago, the music had swelled with a crescendo and ended with the chord that made her squeal.
Now all that was left were notes.
Then, he realized, that was what his life was. A huge jumbled mess.
It’s impossible to play from the heart if you don’t have one…
Sighing, he reached out and grasped it in his left hand and slid out from the bench. It rocked on the back two legs and crashed to the floor. The sound echoed throughout the empty practice chamber.
“Are you alright?..."
“Nuh uh! We are leavin'!"
“He has forced me."
He took his piano piece in his hand and tore it, shredding it into tiny pieces. I’m going to start anew.
He eyed in conspicuously. Why did she write that? She knew that it would tear him down. And on the night of his first performance!gave it away for me that she didn't write that letter in truth. I was just waiting at that point to see whhat the real deal was. I think the whole Peter forcing her seemed like you couldn't think of a much better reason for the letter not being what Lydia actually wants.
He was thin, probably in his sixties and wore a pinstripe suit. His tie was flashy, red and gold combined to make a dazzling effect. But then again, Ray knew, Hugo was a dazzling man. After everything he had done for him – given him an act at Concerto Hall, promoted his music – he was extremely well connected.
She had loved him endearingly for naming his song after her.
The notes were just notes now. There was no meaning behind them; no emotion anymore. They were just notes. No music could come from them.
Raymond could feel the stinging tears crawling, desperately, out of his eyes.
There was a letter placed on the grand piano. The note, wrinkled from many openings, was addressed to a young man sitting at the bench.
Raymond Simmons stared at the white and black keys, distraught. His fingers brushed along the soft edge of the piano while his face hung limply, pale and cold.
There was a letter on the piano. It was crumpled and folded--the pencil on the front read, in blurred handwriting, Raymond.
Raymond himself sat behind the piano bench...
There was a letter placed on the grand piano. The note, wrinkled from many openings, was addressed to a young man sitting at the bench.
Raymond Simmons stared at the white and black keys, distraught. His fingers brushed along the soft edge of the piano while his face hung limply, pale and cold.
There was a letter on the piano. It was crumpled and folded--the pencil on the front read, in blurred handwriting, Raymond.
Raymond himself sat behind the piano bench...
“Lydia, how dare you come here with that… that… fiend!” Raymond yelled. He hurled himself, fists raised, at the man but Lydia screamed, “No! Stop it!”
Raymond and Lydia collided, and she was sent flying to the ground. Her head made a sickening thud as she landed.