Waiting for the end of the world

The Piano Pub

The credits could roll any second now. A conclusion that leaves the audience believing there is more to come for us, though not for them, and what hasn't been resolved will be. Quieter, out of the way, in our own way. Our excerpt was interesting. Everyone can relate to that. But the lights are too bright and show no sign of dimming. Jimmy's fingers stutter over the last notes and with the abrupt end to the music, everything slides back into focus. No more screen tests. Back to tinkering with the Slovakian piano and barely acknowledging the old men who smarm at how great we are on the way to do their business. One by one, alone or in pairs, they file through. And we were on the edge of ending the world.

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Face down, laid bare. Oblivion overwhelmes every sense, sleep weighs on my eyelids. The piano's clunk is softer now there's a reason to be quiet. Don't drift, sink. Wherever it is my consciousness is going, the keys' mellow melody carries me. One hushed lullabye to lull an insomniac into the false security of sleep. It plagues me. Playing beauty into a cavern of weary longing, beneath the ribs that cage a heart straining to work. It could go on infinitely; concluding, secluding. But when I'm woken by exhaustion, it's gone and in place of the comforting sound, arms are wrapped around my chest. Hands over the beat, which keeps me dreaming and waking and waiting for the end.