• Alien or Ghost? You decide....
    2 replies, posted
Writing random short stories, I'm currently writing a story about a posh-school boy who plays the piano at night. One night, with the doors to the grounds open, he plays the piano and there is a girl standing in the door frame. What is she? A ghost? An alien? I can't really decide. Oh, and tell me what you think of it so far. Here's the story: By day I studied; chemistry, mathematics, physics, working as hard as every other boy in my class, striving for perfection. I wasn’t falling behind, not by far, but I felt guilty. I wasn’t at the top. And the reason for it was because I didn’t spend my nights as my father intended. Instead of studying in the early hours, as I had been taught to by my father, I crept through the silent corridors and across the cold floors in bare feet to the piano room. The piano was beautiful. It was old; not so old it no longer functioned properly, but old enough to have a matured quality of sound, the kind of sound you only hear from really esteemed concert pianos in great opera houses. I was lucky my school had one – but then, it was to be expected. It was a historic school, and we had only the best. I opened the French windows a crack in a small ritual I observed. I wasn’t sure why, I just felt compelled to let the moonlight in. I sat at the cushioned bench, running my fingers over the ivory keys. Moonlight glinted through the French windows, reflected in the meticulously polished case lid. A faint breeze blew in. It smelled like old wood and polish and time. I pressed the keys down in a chord, and the wind picked up. My dark hair fluttered about my head, my silk pyjamas wrapping delicately around my ankles. The sound resonated through the room and through my bones. I moved my fingers, playing a piece I’d known for so long it felt natural to play. I shut my eyes, revelling in the cool wind and the familiarity of the piece. The door creaked, and my head shot towards it in surprise, though my hands never ceased from playing. A small figure held the door open, half-silhouetted in the moonlight. Her hair moved in rhythmic waves with the wind.
That was great.
i read that in the glados voice^
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