z

Young Writers Society


E - Everyone

Phantom Pianist SS

by yosh


A/n: Whaaaaaaaa what is this?????? you may be askin yourself that exact question right now, and if im finna be honest . . . a coming-of-age mixed with light mysterious fantasy, all wrapped up in a music genre, and honestly this is just my attempt at getting back into the Short Story groove, so please please please be brutally honest and thanks for reading :P

Cameron can just barely hear the sound of piano keys. It’s very pleasant to the ear. Sounds like Debussy. Or Ravel. He closes his eyes and lets the music wash over him, feeling the tension in his body ease with each passing note. As the melody progresses, he begins to recognize familiar patterns and motifs, allowing him to fully immerse himself in the music.

Of course, he’s listening from behind a door, so he can’t hear it quite well. When the piece is finished, there’s a bit of silence before the door is opened.

A boy, maybe seven or eight years old, walks out of the room. His blonde hair is thick and tousled, and his bright blue or green eyes twinkle with energy and mischief.

“That sounded great! Was that you who was playing?” Cameron asks, smiling at the boy.

“Yep!” the boy replies proudly, “Did it sound cool!”

“It sure did. La Fille aux Cheveux de Lin, right?”

The boy shrugs, “I don’t know.”

At that moment, a familiar voice interrupts the conversation, “That’s right. The Girl with Flaxen Hair. Debussy.”

Dr. Xavier Jones waves at Cameron from inside his office, “I just finished up my private lesson with Max over here. It’s been a while, Cameron.”

The boy gasps, “You play piano, too?”

Cameron nods, “That’s right.”

Crouching down so he can look at Max closer, Cameron says playfully, “Don’t ever give up. I’m betting on you becoming super famous so I can tell people I met you, alright?”

Max giggles, “Okay, I’ll be super famous!”

“Actually, I’d grab your autograph if I could, but I have to talk to Dr. Jones,” Cameron adds, “Don’t you have somewhere to go?”

The boy nods and turns around, running down the hallway as fast as he can. Cameron stifles his pleasant laughter.

“Max is such a sweet boy isn’t he?” says Dr. Jones, “Come inside. I’m sure you have something important to tell me, given that you’ve finally said something after a month of disappearing to god knows where.”

“Yeah, uh,” Cameron says hesitantly, “I’ve just been thinking about how to say this . . .”

Dr. Jones nods, “What is it?”

“I . . . I think I might change majors.”

As Cameron looks at his music professor, he sees more sorrow than surprise in Dr. Jones’ expression. His professor takes a deep breath and sighs.

“Come in, Cameron,” Dr. Jones steps back into his room and sits down on a chair. Cameron sits down across from his professor.

“So, is there a reason why you no longer want to be a music major?”

Cameron sighs, “. . . I . . . I don’t know if I can keep playing piano.”

“Why is that?”

“I used to be so . . . hopeful, I guess? But recently, I haven’t been able to imagine myself up on the stage. I haven’t been able to see myself playing for thousands of people. It’s been getting harder and harder to practice.”

Dr. Jones pauses to think for a bit, then nods, “I’m so sorry you feel that way. All great pianists have been demoralized at some point. I’m sure it’s no less difficult for you.”

Cameron nods.

“As your professor, I believe that your decision here could be a little bit hasty, so I have a suggestion for you.”

“How about you think about this decision for a bit? Maybe take a break from practicing for a while. Go travel. Go see the world. Even the best pianists need to take breaks sometimes,” says Dr. Jones, “Then, in a month, you can come back and tell me this again. Changing your major is a pretty big decision, after all.”

“Okay . . .'' Cameron says uncertainly, “But I don’t think I’ll be returning to music.”

“I find it hard to believe that the self-proclaimed ‘next Chopin’ will give up that easily,” Dr. Jones grins, patting Cameron on the shoulder, “You are very talented. Don’t give up.”

Cameron nods, then turns around quickly. He walks away briskly, hoping to get as far away from himself as he can.

. . .



“Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to take off.”

Cameron swallows hard. Of all the things to be scared of, he has to be scared of basic human technology?

“Please ensure that your seat belt is securely fastened, your seat back and tray table are in their upright and locked position.”

He finds himself gripping the seat handles. He’s sitting on the window seat. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this nervous in his life. He’s played in front of crowds of hundreds of people, maybe even a thousand. Sure, those times he was scared. But back when he performed, he was prepared. Everything was rehearsed and ready.

He never considered that he might die.

“All carry-on baggage is to be stowed properly in the overhead bins or beneath the seat in front of you.”

Cameron glances out the window seat and sees the scenery start to move. The plane is moving along the runway.

“All electronic devices must be switched to airplane mode at this time. If you have any questions or need assistance, please do not hesitate to ask one of our flight attendants. Thank you.”

Cameron closes his eyes, breathing in and out slowly, calming himself down. He finds himself doing a few anti-stage-fright exercises that he’s learned over the years as a performer.

The plane starts to get louder and louder. He suspects that it’s the sound of the wheels on the ground, but it’s still very loud. So loud, that Cameron thinks the plane might just explode.

He looks around, and everyone else on the plane is calm. Some are reading a magazine, others are looking at their phones. Some are even sleeping. None of them are as panicked as he is.

In a few seconds, the unbearably loud sound instantly disappears. For a moment, Cameron waits for something to happen. The quiet hum of wind reminds him of the situation.

The plane has lifted off the runway.

His stomach starts churning. Gurgling.

Cameron doesn’t hesitate. He grabs one of the vaguely labeled ‘air sickness’ bags, but everyone knows what they’re for. He opens up the bag and puts his mouth to it.

. . .

Poland is a wonderful place, thinks Cameron, much nicer than that horrible plane.

He pushes away the vivid memory of releasing his soul into the air sickness bag.

Getting off of the plane, Cameron breathes a sigh of relief. He hadn’t been in Poland for a long time and was worried that he wouldn’t understand Polish. Looking around at the airport signs, however, he finds he can decipher them pretty easily. Especially since many of them have graphics.

Before long, he follows the crowd out of the airport and calls a taxi, something that he hasn’t done in a long time.

“Where are you headed, son?” says the taxi driver, a gruff older man. Cameron pauses to find the best response.

Cameron looks at a sheet of paper for their address, “145 Drakowisk Street.”

As the driver punches the information into the GPS, he asks “What are you doing in Warsaw?”

“Family.”

The driver says nothing more on the drive.

After arriving at his destination, Cameron thanks the taxi driver and pays his fee. He turns, looking at the cracked concrete steps and the weathered door.

He knocks.

In a moment, his mother opens the door. She pauses for a moment, confused.

“Cameron? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you still be in school?”

“I told all my teachers I’m visiting family. Don’t worry.”

His mother stares at him, getting a little angry, “What kind of child did I raise? Skipping school? You’re an adult now, Cameron. Why are you here?”

Cameron shrugs, “To escape from my troubles, I guess?”

Thankfully, his mother does not kick him out of the house, and lets him stay. He does end up having to give an in-depth explanation and excuse for skipping school. Cameron puts his things in the guest room, then lays on the bed.

“Well, now I’m here,” he mumbles to himself, “What do I do?”

After visiting various museums and parks alone, Cameron starts to finally have a little fun. He almost forgets why he’s in Poland in the first place.

When he comes across that museum, he remembers.

In large black letters above the main doors, he reads: Muzeum Fryderyka Chopina

“The Frederic Chopin Museum,” he whispers aloud to himself.

A few people walk by, heading towards the museum. Cameron checks the time, and figuring that it’s not too late, he decides to stop by the museum of his most idolized composer.

He enters through the large ornate doors, like everyone else.

Inside, the Frederic Chopin Museum is filled with the soft light of dim lamps and the hushed sounds of classical music playing in the background. The walls are adorned with antique oil paintings and photographs of Chopin and his contemporaries. In another room stands a grand piano, a beautiful instrument that Cameron can just barely imagine Chopin himself playing on. The floors are polished hardwood, and the lighting gives off a warm glow, making a very comfortable atmosphere. As Cameron walks through the museum, he takes in each exhibit with fascination. There are old letters and sheet music written by Chopin’s hand, along with the piano itself and personal belongings of the composer. Each item feels like a precious relic, a link to the past and to the life of the musician Cameron so deeply admires.

He sits down, exhausted from the overwhelming presence of Chopin that Cameron thinks he can feel within the museum. Is it just me, or is there something strange here?

He can’t pinpoint a specific thing that makes him think that way. He puts his bag down, freeing his hands to ‘air-play’ piano.

He recognizes the tune playing in the background: Frederic Chopin. Op. 25 No. 1.

Though most people recognize the piece by its common name, Aeolian Harp, Cameron knows it by another name: Shepherd Boy.

He remembers reading somewhere that Chopin himself had once advised a student to imagine a Shepherd Boy sheltering from a storm in a cave. The boy pulled out a flute and played a tune to comfort him despite the terror of the storm.

Cameron likes that much better. He imagines himself as the Shepherd Boy, sheltering from the storm of life, and playing a soft tune.

In reality, he no longer plays a tune. He’s given up on piano. It’s just him and the storm.

He eventually lays down on the bench, while continuing to air-play the piece.

Eventually the sound of Chopin’s music lulls him to sleep.

No one finds him, and he doesn’t wake up.

Then, he dreams.

He dreams of the storm. Of the Shepherd Boy running into a cave frantically. But Cameron is not the Shepherd Boy. In fact, he starts drifting away from the cowering boy. The storm carries him higher and farther away. The howling winds scream at him as he tumbles through the clouds.

He’s thrown around, spinning and flailing, completely at the mercy of the storm's ferocity. He tries to grab onto something, anything to anchor himself, but there's nothing but air rushing past him.

As he tumbles through the clouds, his mind races with fear and panic.

The storm rages on, and he feels himself getting weaker and weaker. The wind is taking everything out of him, draining his energy and resolve. But just when he thinks he can't hold on any longer, the wind falls.

The storm begins to dissipate, and the winds calm down. He feels himself slowing down, no longer tumbling uncontrollably. And then, he sees it - the ground below him. He's going to make it.

As he gets closer to the ground, he braces himself for impact. But instead of crashing into the earth, he lands softly on a bed of grass. He lays there for a moment, catching his breath and taking in his surroundings. He's safe. He looks up at the sky, now clear and blue. The storm is gone, and he's made it through.

But the beautiful blue sky is only there for a moment. It’s only a glass pane, after all. The sky shatters, and the pieces of glass fall on Cameron, cutting and scraping him until there’s nothing left.

Cameron wakes up with a gasp.

It’s not the first time Cameron has woken up to the sound of music, but he’s still surprised nonetheless. After all, he makes sure that the wake-up music is a handpicked piece that is not only soft and relaxing, but loud enough that it wakes him up. Thanks to this routine, Cameron’s mornings are often very relaxing.

It’s the first time he’s woken up to something so . . .

“Haunting,” he whispers, getting up from the bench. It’s nearly pitch black, but he can see the traces of moonlight shimmering through the few windows in the museum.

He inwardly groans, realizing that he’d accidentally fallen asleep and got locked in the museum.

After taking a moment to orient himself, he tries to look for the source of the music. It’s obviously not a recording, as the sound is too clear and distinct. It’s probably from the piano that he had seen when he was exploring the museum before.

Cameron fumbles around for his phone, but it’s dead so he can’t use it as a flashlight.

He stays close to the walls as he stumbles around in the darkness. The music gets gradually louder as he gets closer.

Finally, he enters the exhibit with the piano. Chopin’s first piano, to be exact.

Bathed in the moonlight, a man sits at the piano, hunched over passionately. The music is so hauntingly beautiful that Cameron just stands in admiration, stunned.

Cameron instantly wonders why there’s a man just sitting at the piano in the middle of the night, but he’s too enthralled to say anything. Marche funèbre. The Funeral March. Of all of the pieces that Chopin wrote, many people dubbed them with names, like Aeolian Harp and Shepherd Boy.

But there was only one that Chopin ever gave an official name to: The Funeral March. One could assume that he had someone in mind when he wrote the piece, and Cameron can feel the emotion radiating from the music more than ever before. Like the name depicts, the Funeral March is a steady march, but it’s just as haunting as other, more expressive pieces. The music has a moderate tempo, and the chords progress in a way that seems to instill fear in the listener.

Too stunned to interrupt, Cameron waits till the piece is finished, and after a few moments, he speaks up.

“E-excuse me?” he says, his voice cutting through the silence.

The pianist stands up, pushing the bench back, and turns around to face Cameron. The man’s figure is difficult to make out, as it’s the middle of the night in a dark building.

“Who’s there?”

Cameron gulps, responding frantically in Polish, “Sorry! I slept on bench listening! Past museum closing time!”

Cameron cringes, getting the feeling that he probably didn’t say the sentence right.

The pianist responds, “Come closer, I don’t know what you mean.”

Cameron steps closer to the pianist, and can make out his features. He has a scowling face and lush, black hair. That, and his dark playing suggests that he must have gone through a lot in his life.

“My Polish is not very good,” he apologizes, regaining his bearings.

The pianist replies, “Do you know French, then? Or German?”

Cameron laughs, “Not at all. Let’s stick with Polish. I don’t suppose you know English?”

“Not at all.”

Cameron takes a closer look at the man and notices some familiar features. His dark glare, his pale face, and his gloomy demeanor. Some facial features are also very recognizable.

“Wait a minute . . .” Cameron mutters, narrowing his eyes.

“Hm?”

Cameron has no doubt. He’s written papers and researched extensively about this man. This gloomy, angry, sickly man. A child prodigy, and a genius of his craft. He was one of the most well-regarded composers in all of history.

Clearly, this man has an extraordinary likeness to the famous composer.

“You look like Frederic Chopin!”

After the awkward silence that followed, the man replied, “Yes, that is my name.”

“Wait, really? You look like him and your name is the same?” Cameron says in disbelief.

Chopin replies, “I don’t know who you’re referring to, but I can’t seem to recall another man with the same name as I.”

Cameron sits down on the floor, contemplating.

“So you’re telling me that you’re . . . actually Chopin? The one who composed classical music?”

“Classical? No, I am a modern composer.”

Cameron face-palms, forgetting that Chopin probably considered himself modern, even though future historians would call him classical.

Cameron sighs, “Right, anyways, the main question is . . . how are you here?”

“My mother, Tekla Justyna Chopin, birthed me in 1810–”

“No, no,” Cameron groans, “I mean how are you physically right here? Aren’t you dead?”

“I’m . . . not really sure,” Chopin replies, “I do recall myself dying, but I assumed I must have passed on to the next realm.”

“So you’ve been sitting here, playing piano since 1849?”

Chopin shrugs, “Most likely. Are you a musician? Not many common people know much about me, much less the year of my death.”

“Yes, I’m a pianist. I’ve been studying piano for twelve years,” Cameron replies, staring at the seemingly haunted piano.

“Impressive,” Chopin smiles, “I’m sure you’ll accomplish so much.”

“Thanks,” says Cameron sheepishly, “It’s pretty amazing to hear that from one of the most talented pianists in all of history.”

Chopin shakes his head, “You exaggerate. I am not nearly as skilled as my friend, Liszt. He loves sight-reading my compositions”

Cameron nods, but then says, “But, um, I’ve been thinking that I might quit piano soon.”

“Really?” Chopin raises an eyebrow, “But you’ve put in so much effort, haven’t you?”

Chopin joins Cameron and the two of them sit on the floor facing each other.

“I just . . . recently, when I’m practicing, I can’t really imagine myself in front of a huge crowd and succeeding. I think I’ve lost my touch or something. Back when I was a child, I used to say that I’d be the next you, but now . . . now I don’t think that’s possible anymore.”

Chopin nods, then thinks for a moment.

“May I ask your name?”

“Cameron.”

“You know, Cameron,” Chopin begins, “If there’s one thing that I hate more than anything else, it's playing for a big audience. I can’t stand it. The thought of so many people watching me play makes me angry. I often play for small audiences in salons or in my home. I don’t think the desire to play for an audience is what makes a performer great. Of course, there were many situations where I had to play in concert halls, but I still did it, despite not wanting to. I don’t think it’s a big deal that you don’t want to play for a crowd. In fact, you mentioned you want to be the next me? Then you’re following in my footsteps quite accurately.”

Chopin shows Cameron his hands. They look much older than Chopin himself, with visible veins running down muscular and long fingers.

“These hands are those of an introvert. Anyone can be a pianist, not just outgoing people. I may have been sick and quiet for most of my life, but that did not stop my music,” says Chopin as he pats Cameron on the shoulder, “Why don’t you play something for me?Cameron, wide-eyed, quickly declines, “I couldn’t. That piano is an antique. I’ll definitely get in trouble.”

“Don’t worry. The original owner is giving you permission. I want to hear you play.”

Cameron gulps and walks over to the piano. The plastic cover shielding the keys is no longer there, and the piano is shiny and new. Clearly, something about Chopin being here made the piano change.

Cameron briefly warms up his hands and thinks about what he’s going to play.

He decides on a simpler, more expressive piece, and begins with the first note.

Prelude, Op. 28, No. 5, by Frederic Chopin.

Raindrop.

Despite having not practiced in a while, Cameron plays the notes quite well, making a few mistakes here and there. The sound, however, is more beautiful than anything he’s ever heard. The huge room makes the sound echo and creates an effect similar to a concert hall. The silence of the night emphasizes every single note of the piece, and once Cameron enters the middle section, he’s already completely immersed in the music.

He plays the repetitive ‘raindrop’ notes soft and loud at different times, imagining the pitter patter of raindrops hitting the floor. When he reaches the development, he’s in a state of calm, and when he returns to the main theme, he’s actually very impressed with his playing.

He finishes the piece up and ends with a long, expressive note.

And he can feel a tear slide down his cheek and fall to the floor.

He sits in silence, then turns around, “Was that good enough?”

But there’s no answer. Chopin is nowhere to be seen. Perhaps, somewhere in the middle of the piece, Chopin moved on to the ‘next realm’ that he mentioned.

Cameron wipes his moist eyes and navigates to the front door. Unfortunately, it’s locked from the outside. He calls for help, and eventually, someone manages to get him out.

He apologizes to the museum's manager and the manager apologizes to him. He returns home to a worried mother who asks if he was out drinking, to which he hastily denies.

But even as he lays in bed, he can’t fall asleep. His mind just keeps replaying the same scene over and over in disbelief. He can’t believe he actually met Chopin.

And he can’t believe how amazingly he played.

. . .

“I am not going to lie to you, I am so nervous, you could punch me right now, and I would not even feel it,” Cameron says, laughing.

“Is that an invitation?” says his friend Gerard, who is up next after him.“No! Think about how that’ll look to the crowd!” Cameron says, and they both laugh and joke around, trying as hard as they can to get rid of their nerves. The door opens and Cameron flinches violently.

“You’re going to be up soon,” says his teacher, Dr. Jones, poking his head through the doorway, “Start getting those fingers ready to do their magic.”

“Yes, sir.”

He briefly says goodbye to Gerard, and steps out the door.

Waiting outside, is a boy much younger than him, looking up at him nervously. Max.

“Oh wow, you were here?” says Cameron pleasantly, “Are you perhaps one of the competitors?”

Max shakes his head, “No, I’m not as good as Mr. Cameron.”

Cameron, having never been called a title before, is flattered. Dr. Jones pats Max on the back, reminding him of something.

“Don’t you have something to say, Max?”

Max swallows hard, then says quickly, “Good luck on your performance!”Cameron grins, “Well, now I have to do good, don’t I?”

Max nods, then runs off.

“Good luck from me, as well,” says Dr. Jones, “I’m glad you’ve gotten this far. It’s honestly an amazing achievement. Whether you get all the way to first, or hit rock bottom, just appearing in this competition past the preliminary stage is already very impressive. Now go head backstage.”

Cameron finds his way backstage and breathes deeply, feeling his heart beating out of his chest.

One of the stagehands makes some conversation with him, and it calms him down a little bit. When the pianist before him is done, he waits for his introduction, and steps out onto the stage.

Do this like you practiced. Do this like you practiced.

He spares a quick glance to the audience. Sure enough, much of the audience is composed of judges with small lamps shining onto their desks so they can write notes. There are up to twenty or more judges, and the audience looks like it could be in the hundreds.

He sits down at the piano. He closes his eyes, and tries as hard as he can to calm down. I’m finally playing in the Chopin Competition like I’ve always wanted. Known as the most prestigious piano competition in the world, the Chopin Competition is the pinnacle of a pianist’s career.

He unbuttons his jacket, remembering how most professionals did the same. Then, with a confident flick of his hands, he brushes the jacket behind him. His hands, already warmed up, moves over the keys. He stares at the white and black blocks of wood carefully, envisioning his hands running across them.

He had passed the preliminary round already, but now the real competition has begun.

He begins his first piece: Op. 10, No. 1, Waterfall.

It’s a difficult piece with a wild right hand pattern that moves up and down the piano like a waterfall, meanwhile, the left hand plays deep, resonating octaves down below. It’s a very short piece, and he moves onto his next.

His second piece, then his third. Both times went very well.

It went awry when he reached his fourth, his polonaise. He plays Op. 44, Tragic.

It’s much more difficult for him compared to his others, as it’s very emotional and dynamically extreme in many places. He messes up a few times, and as he finishes with the sudden double-octave fortissimo, he’s a bit frantic.

It’s his final piece– the one that he gets to choose.

His choice is Sonata No. 2.

Of course, the reason he picked it is because of the third movement, only.

He plays the first movement easily, then plays the second.

But the third movement scares him. He’s practiced it a lot, but that’s not what is scary about it.

Sonata No. 2, Funeral March

Every time he practices it, he remembers that dark night, many years before, when Chopin’s ghost appeared before him, playing the haunting melody of the Funeral March.

He remembers Chopin’s light touch and slow, expressive tempo.

And he begins.

. . .



The audience is silent, as usual. It’s proper etiquette to remain quiet during the performance and not applaud between movements. Those sitting in the stands are enjoying the music, but at the front, are the judges.

They each stare at the contestant intently, watching his every move, his every action.

He’s playing Chopin’s second sonata, but it’s quite mediocre, as with his other pieces. Many of the judges are just about ready to disqualify him from moving to the second stage.

Then something strange happens.

He begins the third movement, and his music changes. It morphs and grows into something that the judges had never heard before. The piece itself is quite depressing to begin with, but with the slow and gloomy touches of the pianist, it becomes so sad that some of the audience begin to quietly sob.

The music seems to murmuring to the crowd that all hope is lost– that they’ll never come back again.

That he’ll never come back again.

Because at that moment, all Cameron can think of is that brief moment in the museum with Chopin himself.

Meanwhile, the judges are in disbelief. Each of them shaking their heads in awe, thinking the same thing:

This is how Chopin must have intended for this to be played.

Cameron couldn’t care less about what the judges are thinking. In fact, he nearly forgets he’s on the stage. He closes his eyes, wondering why he’s so drawn to this ‘ghost’ of Chopin. He wonders why he’s so drawn to that mysterious night, years before, that he can only just barely remember as a dream.

He remembers the exact way that Chopin gently caressed the keys, and imitates it, though not lacking in emotion. Deep in his heart, he hopes that perhaps if he plays it like Chopin did, then Chopin may appear before him.

And as he reaches the end of the movement, as he slowly reaches the final note of the Funeral March, as his pace begins to slow, and slow, and slow, he opens his eyes, just barely.

And he sees, resting on the keys, a familiar sight.

Long, muscular fingers, with visible veins running down. The hands look quite old and weathered, proving that the pianist must have practiced more than enough.

Resting on the keys are Chopin’s hands.

Cameron finishes the sonata with a powerful fourth movement, the finale, and as he stands up to bow for the judges and the audience, he can see a sliver of moonlight shining on the piano, almost like a lingering blessing from the past.

The final requiem for a phantom pianist.


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Wed May 03, 2023 10:32 pm
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AmayaStatham wrote a review...



WAIT...give me a second to catch my breath. I have so many goosebumps on my arms, it is such a chilly feeling. Yeah. I think I am ready now. Wow. I think I have frozen again. It is getting better now, yep.

First of all, sorry for the drama, Hello there.
Im here to leave you a review on this beautiful master piece.

First impression, this was just amazing, mindblowing and awesome at the same time. Just breathtaking what you have written here. I can see you have a lot of experience with music or you did an awful lot of research. I could just feel it in your story. You had quite an heavy content with a lot of greatness in there.

Cameron can just barely hear the sound of piano keys. It’s very pleasant to the ear. Sounds like Debussy. Or Ravel. He closes his eyes and lets the music wash over him, feeling the tension in his body ease with each passing note. As the melody progresses, he begins to recognize familiar patterns and motifs, allowing him to fully immerse himself in the music.

Of course, he’s listening from behind a door, so he can’t hear it quite well. When the piece is finished, there’s a bit of silence before the door is opened.

A boy, maybe seven or eight years old, walks out of the room. His blonde hair is thick and tousled, and his bright blue or green eyes twinkle with energy and mischief.

“That sounded great! Was that you who was playing?” Cameron asks, smiling at the boy.

“Yep!” the boy replies proudly, “Did it sound cool!”

“It sure did. La Fille aux Cheveux de Lin, right?”

The boy shrugs, “I don’t know.”

At that moment, a familiar voice interrupts the conversation, “That’s right. The Girl with Flaxen Hair. Debussy.”

Dr. Xavier Jones waves at Cameron from inside his office, “I just finished up my private lesson with Max over here. It’s been a while, Cameron.”

The boy gasps, “You play piano, too?”

Cameron nods, “That’s right.”

Crouching down so he can look at Max closer, Cameron says playfully, “Don’t ever give up. I’m betting on you becoming super famous so I can tell people I met you, alright?”

Max giggles, “Okay, I’ll be super famous!”

“Actually, I’d grab your autograph if I could, but I have to talk to Dr. Jones,” Cameron adds, “Don’t you have somewhere to go?”

The boy nods and turns around, running down the hallway as fast as he can. Cameron stifles his pleasant laughter.

“Max is such a sweet boy isn’t he?” says Dr. Jones, “Come inside. I’m sure you have something important to tell me, given that you’ve finally said something after a month of disappearing to god knows where.”


I think this is a great way to start. You start with Cameron listening to piano music. Very nice, your descriptions make the story come alive. I like the meeting between Cameron and Max. You have shown a bit of Cameron's sweet and caring side here, the way he talks and motivates Max to keep going and that he will be famous one day is very nice. It also has more impact because Max is still very young and young children often have very big dreams and that needs to be handled with care. Cameron has done a great job with that. (He certainly made an immediate good impression on me). So you certainly did a great job with that part. This is my favourite line, “Actually, I’d grab your autograph if I could, but I have to talk to Dr. Jones,” I love that Cameron's professor talks to him so cool, I mean, you didn't make him act all professional. I like that about him.

“Yeah, uh,” Cameron says hesitantly, “I’ve just been thinking about how to say this . . .”

Dr. Jones nods, “What is it?”

“I . . . I think I might change majors.”

As Cameron looks at his music professor, he sees more sorrow than surprise in Dr. Jones’ expression. His professor takes a deep breath and sighs.

“Come in, Cameron,” Dr. Jones steps back into his room and sits down on a chair. Cameron sits down across from his professor.

“So, is there a reason why you no longer want to be a music major?”

Cameron sighs, “. . . I . . . I don’t know if I can keep playing piano.”

“Why is that?”

“I used to be so . . . hopeful, I guess? But recently, I haven’t been able to imagine myself up on the stage. I haven’t been able to see myself playing for thousands of people. It’s been getting harder and harder to practice.”

Dr. Jones pauses to think for a bit, then nods, “I’m so sorry you feel that way. All great pianists have been demoralized at some point. I’m sure it’s no less difficult for you.”

Cameron nods.

“As your professor, I believe that your decision here could be a little bit hasty, so I have a suggestion for you.”

“How about you think about this decision for a bit? Maybe take a break from practicing for a while. Go travel. Go see the world. Even the best pianists need to take breaks sometimes,” says Dr. Jones, “Then, in a month, you can come back and tell me this again. Changing your major is a pretty big decision, after all.”

“Okay . . .'' Cameron says uncertainly, “But I don’t think I’ll be returning to music.”

“I find it hard to believe that the self-proclaimed ‘next Chopin’ will give up that easily,” Dr. Jones grins, patting Cameron on the shoulder, “You are very talented. Don’t give up.”

Cameron nods, then turns around quickly. He walks away briskly, hoping to get as far away from himself as he can.


This is the part where Cameron tells his professor that he wants to stop playing the piano. I would have taught that Cameron would tell Dr Jones with a heavy heart, but it was quite the opposite. That surprised me in a good way, because that is not something I read every day. Cameron was actually a bit happy about his decision to quit music, but his teacher was the one with a heavy heart, not only was he losing one of his best students, but he was losing someone who had the potential to be a great musician. Great work here, I love your lay with the dialogue too. Your dialogues are very beautiful.

. . .



“Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to take off.”

Cameron swallows hard. Of all the things to be scared of, he has to be scared of basic human technology?

“Please ensure that your seat belt is securely fastened, your seat back and tray table are in their upright and locked position.”

He finds himself gripping the seat handles. He’s sitting on the window seat. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this nervous in his life. He’s played in front of crowds of hundreds of people, maybe even a thousand. Sure, those times he was scared. But back when he performed, he was prepared. Everything was rehearsed and ready.

He never considered that he might die.

“All carry-on baggage is to be stowed properly in the overhead bins or beneath the seat in front of you.”

Cameron glances out the window seat and sees the scenery start to move. The plane is moving along the runway.

“All electronic devices must be switched to airplane mode at this time. If you have any questions or need assistance, please do not hesitate to ask one of our flight attendants. Thank you.”

Cameron closes his eyes, breathing in and out slowly, calming himself down. He finds himself doing a few anti-stage-fright exercises that he’s learned over the years as a performer.

The plane starts to get louder and louder. He suspects that it’s the sound of the wheels on the ground, but it’s still very loud. So loud, that Cameron thinks the plane might just explode.

He looks around, and everyone else on the plane is calm. Some are reading a magazine, others are looking at their phones. Some are even sleeping. None of them are as panicked as he is.

In a few seconds, the unbearably loud sound instantly disappears. For a moment, Cameron waits for something to happen. The quiet hum of wind reminds him of the situation.

The plane has lifted off the runway.

His stomach starts churning. Gurgling.

Cameron doesn’t hesitate. He grabs one of the vaguely labeled ‘air sickness’ bags, but everyone knows what they’re for. He opens up the bag and puts his mouth to it.

. . .


I am very impressed by this scene. You just nailed the whole take-off scenario! You should be very proud. I could just imagine sitting in a plane again, you just put in the right dialogue and the right descriptions. You used very descriptive language and you wrote very well. And the feeling of being on a plane for the first time, even the part you got right. The whole feeling of dizziness and looking around to see what other people are doing, right up to the part where you land in the brown paper bag. Awesome!

Poland is a wonderful place, thinks Cameron, much nicer than that horrible plane.

He pushes away the vivid memory of releasing his soul into the air sickness bag.

Getting off of the plane, Cameron breathes a sigh of relief. He hadn’t been in Poland for a long time and was worried that he wouldn’t understand Polish. Looking around at the airport signs, however, he finds he can decipher them pretty easily. Especially since many of them have graphics.

Before long, he follows the crowd out of the airport and calls a taxi, something that he hasn’t done in a long time.

“Where are you headed, son?” says the taxi driver, a gruff older man. Cameron pauses to find the best response.

Cameron looks at a sheet of paper for their address, “145 Drakowisk Street.”

As the driver punches the information into the GPS, he asks “What are you doing in Warsaw?”

“Family.”

The driver says nothing more on the drive.

After arriving at his destination, Cameron thanks the taxi driver and pays his fee. He turns, looking at the cracked concrete steps and the weathered door.

He knocks.

In a moment, his mother opens the door. She pauses for a moment, confused.

“Cameron? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you still be in school?”

“I told all my teachers I’m visiting family. Don’t worry.”

His mother stares at him, getting a little angry, “What kind of child did I raise? Skipping school? You’re an adult now, Cameron. Why are you here?”

Cameron shrugs, “To escape from my troubles, I guess?”

Thankfully, his mother does not kick him out of the house, and lets him stay. He does end up having to give an in-depth explanation and excuse for skipping school. Cameron puts his things in the guest room, then lays on the bed.

“Well, now I’m here,” he mumbles to himself, “What do I do?”


This part is worked out in great detail, from the street number, to the taxi driver asking him where he is going, to his mother asking him why he is skipping school. You have described everything very well, but I think your characters could use a little more character development. Especially Cameron, but that is totally up to you. I like the fact that you made his mother worry so much and also that she did not kick him out. I was gonna cry if you did that, LOL. I love that you wrote his thoughts also, it makes your story even more fun to read! Great job on your descriptions here too I could really create vivid images for myself. Fabolous!

After visiting various museums and parks alone, Cameron starts to finally have a little fun. He almost forgets why he’s in Poland in the first place.

When he comes across that museum, he remembers.

In large black letters above the main doors, he reads: Muzeum Fryderyka Chopina

“The Frederic Chopin Museum,” he whispers aloud to himself.

A few people walk by, heading towards the museum. Cameron checks the time, and figuring that it’s not too late, he decides to stop by the museum of his most idolized composer.

He enters through the large ornate doors, like everyone else.

Inside, the Frederic Chopin Museum is filled with the soft light of dim lamps and the hushed sounds of classical music playing in the background. The walls are adorned with antique oil paintings and photographs of Chopin and his contemporaries. In another room stands a grand piano, a beautiful instrument that Cameron can just barely imagine Chopin himself playing on. The floors are polished hardwood, and the lighting gives off a warm glow, making a very comfortable atmosphere. As Cameron walks through the museum, he takes in each exhibit with fascination. There are old letters and sheet music written by Chopin’s hand, along with the piano itself and personal belongings of the composer. Each item feels like a precious relic, a link to the past and to the life of the musician Cameron so deeply admires.

He sits down, exhausted from the overwhelming presence of Chopin that Cameron thinks he can feel within the museum. Is it just me, or is there something strange here?

He can’t pinpoint a specific thing that makes him think that way. He puts his bag down, freeing his hands to ‘air-play’ piano.

He recognizes the tune playing in the background: Frederic Chopin. Op. 25 No. 1.

Though most people recognize the piece by its common name, Aeolian Harp, Cameron knows it by another name: Shepherd Boy.

He remembers reading somewhere that Chopin himself had once advised a student to imagine a Shepherd Boy sheltering from a storm in a cave. The boy pulled out a flute and played a tune to comfort him despite the terror of the storm.

Cameron likes that much better. He imagines himself as the Shepherd Boy, sheltering from the storm of life, and playing a soft tune.

In reality, he no longer plays a tune. He’s given up on piano. It’s just him and the storm.

He eventually lays down on the bench, while continuing to air-play the piece.

Eventually the sound of Chopin’s music lulls him to sleep.

No one finds him, and he doesn’t wake up.

Then, he dreams.

He dreams of the storm. Of the Shepherd Boy running into a cave frantically. But Cameron is not the Shepherd Boy. In fact, he starts drifting away from the cowering boy. The storm carries him higher and farther away. The howling winds scream at him as he tumbles through the clouds.

He’s thrown around, spinning and flailing, completely at the mercy of the storm's ferocity. He tries to grab onto something, anything to anchor himself, but there's nothing but air rushing past him.

As he tumbles through the clouds, his mind races with fear and panic.

The storm rages on, and he feels himself getting weaker and weaker. The wind is taking everything out of him, draining his energy and resolve. But just when he thinks he can't hold on any longer, the wind falls.

The storm begins to dissipate, and the winds calm down. He feels himself slowing down, no longer tumbling uncontrollably. And then, he sees it - the ground below him. He's going to make it.

As he gets closer to the ground, he braces himself for impact. But instead of crashing into the earth, he lands softly on a bed of grass. He lays there for a moment, catching his breath and taking in his surroundings. He's safe. He looks up at the sky, now clear and blue. The storm is gone, and he's made it through.

But the beautiful blue sky is only there for a moment. It’s only a glass pane, after all. The sky shatters, and the pieces of glass fall on Cameron, cutting and scraping him until there’s nothing left.

Cameron wakes up with a gasp.


Wow! Give me a second, I think I am a bit wiggling still. Yep, it is all good now. Your creation of the sea and its whole song that you combines with it, is just AMAZING! I do not know if Chopin is or was a real musician but if he was Ku2. You have really been inspired by him to write this story and I can totally feel that you have put your whole heart in this story. It is very great how you created this dream and it is also nice that you grabbed back to the original title, niece detail there. This part is my favourite, But the beautiful blue sky is only there for a moment. It’s only a glass pane, after all. The sky shatters, and the pieces of glass fall on Cameron, cutting and scraping him until there’s nothing left.
Very nice writing style and your use of words over here!

I love the whole story behind the song, it just brings the song and your story more to life with that little dream in there. Great thinking, Yosh! You really know how to write a great story and how to keep your readers engaged and reaching for more.

It’s not the first time Cameron has woken up to the sound of music, but he’s still surprised nonetheless. After all, he makes sure that the wake-up music is a handpicked piece that is not only soft and relaxing, but loud enough that it wakes him up. Thanks to this routine, Cameron’s mornings are often very relaxing.

It’s the first time he’s woken up to something so . . .

“Haunting,” he whispers, getting up from the bench. It’s nearly pitch black, but he can see the traces of moonlight shimmering through the few windows in the museum.

He inwardly groans, realizing that he’d accidentally fallen asleep and got locked in the museum.

After taking a moment to orient himself, he tries to look for the source of the music. It’s obviously not a recording, as the sound is too clear and distinct. It’s probably from the piano that he had seen when he was exploring the museum before.

Cameron fumbles around for his phone, but it’s dead so he can’t use it as a flashlight.

He stays close to the walls as he stumbles around in the darkness. The music gets gradually louder as he gets closer.

Finally, he enters the exhibit with the piano. Chopin’s first piano, to be exact.

Bathed in the moonlight, a man sits at the piano, hunched over passionately. The music is so hauntingly beautiful that Cameron just stands in admiration, stunned.

Cameron instantly wonders why there’s a man just sitting at the piano in the middle of the night, but he’s too enthralled to say anything. Marche funèbre. The Funeral March. Of all of the pieces that Chopin wrote, many people dubbed them with names, like Aeolian Harp and Shepherd Boy.

But there was only one that Chopin ever gave an official name to: The Funeral March. One could assume that he had someone in mind when he wrote the piece, and Cameron can feel the emotion radiating from the music more than ever before. Like the name depicts, the Funeral March is a steady march, but it’s just as haunting as other, more expressive pieces. The music has a moderate tempo, and the chords progress in a way that seems to instill fear in the listener.

Too stunned to interrupt, Cameron waits till the piece is finished, and after a few moments, he speaks up.

“E-excuse me?” he says, his voice cutting through the silence.

The pianist stands up, pushing the bench back, and turns around to face Cameron. The man’s figure is difficult to make out, as it’s the middle of the night in a dark building.

“Who’s there?”

Cameron gulps, responding frantically in Polish, “Sorry! I slept on bench listening! Past museum closing time!”

Cameron cringes, getting the feeling that he probably didn’t say the sentence right.

The pianist responds, “Come closer, I don’t know what you mean.”

Cameron steps closer to the pianist, and can make out his features. He has a scowling face and lush, black hair. That, and his dark playing suggests that he must have gone through a lot in his life.

“My Polish is not very good,” he apologizes, regaining his bearings.

The pianist replies, “Do you know French, then? Or German?”

Cameron laughs, “Not at all. Let’s stick with Polish. I don’t suppose you know English?”

“Not at all.”

Cameron takes a closer look at the man and notices some familiar features. His dark glare, his pale face, and his gloomy demeanor. Some facial features are also very recognizable.

“Wait a minute . . .” Cameron mutters, narrowing his eyes.

“Hm?”

Cameron has no doubt. He’s written papers and researched extensively about this man. This gloomy, angry, sickly man. A child prodigy, and a genius of his craft. He was one of the most well-regarded composers in all of history.

Clearly, this man has an extraordinary likeness to the famous composer.

“You look like Frederic Chopin!”


This scene is worked out very nicely too. The whole mystery behind who the mysterious old man is who is playing the piano like a drop of water as Chopin. Your dialogues play a big role here too and they fit nicely in. Just like puzzle pieces. Nice job, Yosh! I love your descriptions over here too, the way you described Chopin as old and wrinkley and that you could see his veins gives me a greater picture. Your writing flows so nice here. This piece is also very nice because Cameron is meeting his favourite composer, his idol, his role model, the man he has been playing music for his entire life almost. You did an nice job, bringing this forward.

After the awkward silence that followed, the man replied, “Yes, that is my name.”

“Wait, really? You look like him and your name is the same?” Cameron says in disbelief.

Chopin replies, “I don’t know who you’re referring to, but I can’t seem to recall another man with the same name as I.”

Cameron sits down on the floor, contemplating.

“So you’re telling me that you’re . . . actually Chopin? The one who composed classical music?”

“Classical? No, I am a modern composer.”

Cameron face-palms, forgetting that Chopin probably considered himself modern, even though future historians would call him classical.

Cameron sighs, “Right, anyways, the main question is . . . how are you here?”

“My mother, Tekla Justyna Chopin, birthed me in 1810–”

“No, no,” Cameron groans, “I mean how are you physically right here? Aren’t you dead?”

“I’m . . . not really sure,” Chopin replies, “I do recall myself dying, but I assumed I must have passed on to the next realm.”

“So you’ve been sitting here, playing piano since 1849?”

Chopin shrugs, “Most likely. Are you a musician? Not many common people know much about me, much less the year of my death.”

“Yes, I’m a pianist. I’ve been studying piano for twelve years,” Cameron replies, staring at the seemingly haunted piano.

“Impressive,” Chopin smiles, “I’m sure you’ll accomplish so much.”

“Thanks,” says Cameron sheepishly, “It’s pretty amazing to hear that from one of the most talented pianists in all of history.”

Chopin shakes his head, “You exaggerate. I am not nearly as skilled as my friend, Liszt. He loves sight-reading my compositions”

Cameron nods, but then says, “But, um, I’ve been thinking that I might quit piano soon.”

“Really?” Chopin raises an eyebrow, “But you’ve put in so much effort, haven’t you?”

Chopin joins Cameron and the two of them sit on the floor facing each other.

“I just . . . recently, when I’m practicing, I can’t really imagine myself in front of a huge crowd and succeeding. I think I’ve lost my touch or something. Back when I was a child, I used to say that I’d be the next you, but now . . . now I don’t think that’s possible anymore.”

Chopin nods, then thinks for a moment.

“May I ask your name?”

“Cameron.”


This part is very nice and fun to read. I love the confusion at the top where Cameron is just asking him questions about himself and can not believe it is actually him and it's also a very emotional scene. The fact that Cameron thinks he will never be able to make it to become a great musicion is sad. But it seems that Chapion is here for a reason, I really like your pacing in this part. And your dialogues add a nice spin off over here. ;)

“You know, Cameron,” Chopin begins, “If there’s one thing that I hate more than anything else, it's playing for a big audience. I can’t stand it. The thought of so many people watching me play makes me angry. I often play for small audiences in salons or in my home. I don’t think the desire to play for an audience is what makes a performer great. Of course, there were many situations where I had to play in concert halls, but I still did it, despite not wanting to. I don’t think it’s a big deal that you don’t want to play for a crowd. In fact, you mentioned you want to be the next me? Then you’re following in my footsteps quite accurately.”

Chopin shows Cameron his hands. They look much older than Chopin himself, with visible veins running down muscular and long fingers.

“These hands are those of an introvert. Anyone can be a pianist, not just outgoing people. I may have been sick and quiet for most of my life, but that did not stop my music,” says Chopin as he pats Cameron on the shoulder, “Why don’t you play something for me?Cameron, wide-eyed, quickly declines, “I couldn’t. That piano is an antique. I’ll definitely get in trouble.”

“Don’t worry. The original owner is giving you permission. I want to hear you play.”

Cameron gulps and walks over to the piano. The plastic cover shielding the keys is no longer there, and the piano is shiny and new. Clearly, something about Chopin being here made the piano change.

Cameron briefly warms up his hands and thinks about what he’s going to play.

He decides on a simpler, more expressive piece, and begins with the first note.

Prelude, Op. 28, No. 5, by Frederic Chopin.

Raindrop.

Despite having not practiced in a while, Cameron plays the notes quite well, making a few mistakes here and there. The sound, however, is more beautiful than anything he’s ever heard. The huge room makes the sound echo and creates an effect similar to a concert hall. The silence of the night emphasizes every single note of the piece, and once Cameron enters the middle section, he’s already completely immersed in the music.

He plays the repetitive ‘raindrop’ notes soft and loud at different times, imagining the pitter patter of raindrops hitting the floor. When he reaches the development, he’s in a state of calm, and when he returns to the main theme, he’s actually very impressed with his playing.

He finishes the piece up and ends with a long, expressive note.

And he can feel a tear slide down his cheek and fall to the floor.

He sits in silence, then turns around, “Was that good enough?”

But there’s no answer. Chopin is nowhere to be seen. Perhaps, somewhere in the middle of the piece, Chopin moved on to the ‘next realm’ that he mentioned.


Wow, mindblowing. It's so sweet that Chapion tells Cameron that he was once also like that in that same position, but he made it out. I also like it that he made Cameron play him a piece and that he says, "The original owner is giving you permission." I find it kinda funny. I do think it's a bit sad that Cameron doubts himself so much. Like were he asked, “Was that good enough?” I can just feel him feeling empty from the inside. I feel bad for him, but you never know what can happen next. I do love that he plays the song very good even though he didn't practise in a while. And the dramatic finishing tone also adds that drama sound there, nice. I can just hear the sound ringing in my ear.

I don't know for sure, but I think you've written this piece based on expierences or something you've heard from someone. It's just feels so lively to be fiction. Is it fiction?

But there’s no answer. Chopin is nowhere to be seen. Perhaps, somewhere in the middle of the piece, Chopin moved on to the ‘next realm’ that he mentioned.

Cameron wipes his moist eyes and navigates to the front door. Unfortunately, it’s locked from the outside. He calls for help, and eventually, someone manages to get him out.

He apologizes to the museum's manager and the manager apologizes to him. He returns home to a worried mother who asks if he was out drinking, to which he hastily denies.

But even as he lays in bed, he can’t fall asleep. His mind just keeps replaying the same scene over and over in disbelief. He can’t believe he actually met Chopin.

And he can’t believe how amazingly he played.

. . .

“I am not going to lie to you, I am so nervous, you could punch me right now, and I would not even feel it,” Cameron says, laughing.

“Is that an invitation?” says his friend Gerard, who is up next after him.“No! Think about how that’ll look to the crowd!” Cameron says, and they both laugh and joke around, trying as hard as they can to get rid of their nerves. The door opens and Cameron flinches violently.

“You’re going to be up soon,” says his teacher, Dr. Jones, poking his head through the doorway, “Start getting those fingers ready to do their magic.”

“Yes, sir.”

He briefly says goodbye to Gerard, and steps out the door.

Waiting outside, is a boy much younger than him, looking up at him nervously. Max.

“Oh wow, you were here?” says Cameron pleasantly, “Are you perhaps one of the competitors?”

Max shakes his head, “No, I’m not as good as Mr. Cameron.”

Cameron, having never been called a title before, is flattered. Dr. Jones pats Max on the back, reminding him of something.

“Don’t you have something to say, Max?”

Max swallows hard, then says quickly, “Good luck on your performance!”Cameron grins, “Well, now I have to do good, don’t I?”

Max nods, then runs off.

“Good luck from me, as well,” says Dr. Jones, “I’m glad you’ve gotten this far. It’s honestly an amazing achievement. Whether you get all the way to first, or hit rock bottom, just appearing in this competition past the preliminary stage is already very impressive. Now go head backstage.”

Cameron finds his way backstage and breathes deeply, feeling his heart beating out of his chest.

One of the stagehands makes some conversation with him, and it calms him down a little bit. When the pianist before him is done, he waits for his introduction, and steps out onto the stage.

Do this like you practiced. Do this like you practiced.


Oehhh....this is so nice! Cameron didn't quit! Yesss and he is even giving a concert, awesome sauce. Great, your dialogues help a lot to understand your story better and I love it, this part is just amazing. The fact that you added Max here too makes it even more sweet and likeable. I love also that Cameron is restassuring himself, for example this scentence, "Do this like you practiced. Do this like you practiced." I'm happy you've put in the part where he thinks back about that night with Chapion too. It adds more depth to the scene.

He spares a quick glance to the audience. Sure enough, much of the audience is composed of judges with small lamps shining onto their desks so they can write notes. There are up to twenty or more judges, and the audience looks like it could be in the hundreds.

He sits down at the piano. He closes his eyes, and tries as hard as he can to calm down. I’m finally playing in the Chopin Competition like I’ve always wanted. Known as the most prestigious piano competition in the world, the Chopin Competition is the pinnacle of a pianist’s career.

He unbuttons his jacket, remembering how most professionals did the same. Then, with a confident flick of his hands, he brushes the jacket behind him. His hands, already warmed up, moves over the keys. He stares at the white and black blocks of wood carefully, envisioning his hands running across them.

He had passed the preliminary round already, but now the real competition has begun.

He begins his first piece: Op. 10, No. 1, Waterfall.

It’s a difficult piece with a wild right hand pattern that moves up and down the piano like a waterfall, meanwhile, the left hand plays deep, resonating octaves down below. It’s a very short piece, and he moves onto his next.

His second piece, then his third. Both times went very well.

It went awry when he reached his fourth, his polonaise. He plays Op. 44, Tragic.

It’s much more difficult for him compared to his others, as it’s very emotional and dynamically extreme in many places. He messes up a few times, and as he finishes with the sudden double-octave fortissimo, he’s a bit frantic.

It’s his final piece– the one that he gets to choose.

His choice is Sonata No. 2.

Of course, the reason he picked it is because of the third movement, only.

He plays the first movement easily, then plays the second.

But the third movement scares him. He’s practiced it a lot, but that’s not what is scary about it.

Sonata No. 2, Funeral March

Every time he practices it, he remembers that dark night, many years before, when Chopin’s ghost appeared before him, playing the haunting melody of the Funeral March.

He remembers Chopin’s light touch and slow, expressive tempo.

And he begins.

. . .


See, this is what I'm talking about. I'm pretty sure now, you have a connection to music! This scene is written to diligently with so much knowledge of music. The way you described the piano notes, the tempo and beat of the music, the haunting night with Chapoin's ghost. A-W-E-S-O-M-E! Yup, totally giving this work a like.

The audience is silent, as usual. It’s proper etiquette to remain quiet during the performance and not applaud between movements. Those sitting in the stands are enjoying the music, but at the front, are the judges.

They each stare at the contestant intently, watching his every move, his every action.

He’s playing Chopin’s second sonata, but it’s quite mediocre, as with his other pieces. Many of the judges are just about ready to disqualify him from moving to the second stage.

Then something strange happens.

He begins the third movement, and his music changes. It morphs and grows into something that the judges had never heard before. The piece itself is quite depressing to begin with, but with the slow and gloomy touches of the pianist, it becomes so sad that some of the audience begin to quietly sob.

The music seems to murmuring to the crowd that all hope is lost– that they’ll never come back again.

That he’ll never come back again.

Because at that moment, all Cameron can think of is that brief moment in the museum with Chopin himself.

Meanwhile, the judges are in disbelief. Each of them shaking their heads in awe, thinking the same thing:

This is how Chopin must have intended for this to be played.

Cameron couldn’t care less about what the judges are thinking. In fact, he nearly forgets he’s on the stage. He closes his eyes, wondering why he’s so drawn to this ‘ghost’ of Chopin. He wonders why he’s so drawn to that mysterious night, years before, that he can only just barely remember as a dream.

He remembers the exact way that Chopin gently caressed the keys, and imitates it, though not lacking in emotion. Deep in his heart, he hopes that perhaps if he plays it like Chopin did, then Chopin may appear before him.

And as he reaches the end of the movement, as he slowly reaches the final note of the Funeral March, as his pace begins to slow, and slow, and slow, he opens his eyes, just barely.

And he sees, resting on the keys, a familiar sight.

Long, muscular fingers, with visible veins running down. The hands look quite old and weathered, proving that the pianist must have practiced more than enough.

Resting on the keys are Chopin’s hands.

Cameron finishes the sonata with a powerful fourth movement, the finale, and as he stands up to bow for the judges and the audience, he can see a sliver of moonlight shining on the piano, almost like a lingering blessing from the past.

The final requiem for a phantom pianist.


YOU did an amazing job with this ending scene. IT's just so on point with everything, nicely yet diligently written. This story also conveys a very beautiful message. You have an fabulous writing style and have a touch of music on the tip of your fingers. I really really enjoyed this story.

I've recently took up piano lessons and I thought of quitting, because it seemed boring. But you've inspired me, so I'm not going to quit. Thank you so much! I really love this story, you should get an award or something.

🎶🎹🎶me encanta🎶🎹🎶

Keep writing, you're doing great!

Musically yours,
Rinisha




yosh says...


omg tysm!!!!! <33333

thank you so much for the review!

im so glad youre gonna keep taking piano lessons! you won't regret it!

(and yes, I do play piano haha)

-yosh



AmayaStatham says...


Thank you for the encouragement, I just found out i'm playing keyboard not piano, sorry. But still imma not quit! TYSM!!!!

- Rinisha

PS: I'm pretty sure you play awesome music on your piano by the way i read your story.



yosh says...


well, keyboardists can always get an upgrade ;)



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vampricone6783 wrote a review...



Beautifully haunting. It’s like Chopin’s ghost was there to help Cameron every step of the way. Or was he? I liked how you described the music getting darker and more emotional. I also liked Cameron’s character, because artists can lose their spark and that was what almost happened to him until he remembered why he liked playing piano in the first place.

I enjoyed this short story.

I hope that you will have a lovely day/night.




yosh says...


thanks for the review! <33




Maybe what most people wanted wasn't immortality and fame, but the reassurance that their existence had meant something. No matter how long... or how brief. Maybe being eternal meant becoming a story worth telling.
— Roshani Chokshi, Aru Shah and the Nectar of Immortality