The Pianist's Lost Hand

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Enter the mind of the pianist, who is the best in Europe, and experience the struggle he faces after an incident.
In terms of genre, I honestly do not know where to put it so I just categorised it as literary fiction.

This is a short story I wrote quite a while back and I would like to share it.

Submitted: October 06, 2015

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Submitted: October 06, 2015

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The Pianist’s Lost Hand

 

I.  Parasites

“These people are disgusting!” he said with a low despising tone, while he glared from the door by the side of the stage. The concert hall was the biggest in the city and recently renovated. Crystal chandeliers hung from the dome and the ceiling was decorated by indented Renaissance paintings. Around the paintings there were golden frames and holes where the chandeliers hung. There were around two thousand seats separated into blocks of two hundreds. Some seats were lifted higher than the others on the side, yet the exclusive ones were on the side and had the capacity of only 10 people. Truly exclusive, as only five existed and the prices were sky high as the seats were on the first floor. From the exclusive section, which was on the first floor that stood out from the hall’s walls, the guests had a perfect view to the stage.

A well dressed gentleman in his later ages came up to the microphone and stood in the middle-front part of the stage. He cleared his throat and neared the microphone “Ladies and Gentlemen! I gladly introduce you to this stage our very special and talented pianist, who despite of his age, he is the greatest of them all in our beloved country. Welcome him to the stage with warmth and respect!” the crowd applauded. “I guess it’s time to feed these morons with some entertainment!” he said to himself and with a smile, he started to walk towards the piano in the middle of the stage. His steps echoed throughout the hall, he could feel the tense air around the guests who were hungry to anticipate redemption.

His head took semi-circle turn to left and right, while undeniable thoughts blossomed in his mind. “Just look! Just look at them! What can you see? I can see on ly a pile of dirt sprayed with gold. Old men and women with flawless artificial smiles, behind it, there is only decay. They are eating  overly expensive snacks and drinking champagne that tastes like horse piss. It sickens me. By affording the ticket, they probably think that they are higher beings, but they are just like the street bums. They are the same disgusting human form, but with more gold.  I can’t even see probably the things they are wearing because their valueless stones are glowing too brightly.  They are just the same, only luckier. They don’t even know what I’m playing, or even ever heard of it. I hear whisperings of pseudo-intellectualism. On art, music and politics, they have no idea what they are talking about. One article headline, one flash from the television and that’s all they know about the world. They follow the trend, giving up themselves to false ideals. I could make the same money by being a fucking fortune teller” he laughs and continues “This is just pathetic! Vile creatures...”

As he bent down in front of the crowd, they started to clap, and then he moved towards the piano in the middle of the stage and sat down. The lights slowly faded and only he was lit up by the stage lamp. The first note echoed the in the hall and people started to fall into a trance as if they were in a hypnotic therapy. The piano solo he played was never mastered perfectly by anyone in Europe, but only by him and he was not even European. Surely, some Asian could master it but they were robots, but it was without passion. And the solo went on. The crowd did not even blink nor made a single move. They were completely still, and only the sound of his music could be heard.

He pressed the notes one by one giving out flares as if he was on fire.  He was only light burning in the room, viciously. Every note was played perfectly and contributed to a priceless experience for the audience. Slowly he transformed to something indescribable, something that was full with energy and intensity. His shape began to blur, while the crowd was watching him play and fed on the sweet nectars of the melody in complete silence and stillness.

As if this was the Second Coming.

The light, he became brighter and by the end of the solo, the entire hall was illuminated by him. People were filled with wonder, as if they were kissed by Christ.

The piano solo ended with the hard hit of the last keys. He turned to the right and saw the people who were motionless. A wave of loud applause followed; he stood up and went to the edge of the stage facing two thousand people. He bowed down as a gesture of gratitude for listening and watching him play. With a smile, he slowly left the stage. “Fuckers...”

 

II.  Lunch

“I met this girl yesterday after the concert, when I went into a bar to have a drink. It is very stressful to be a successful pianist. You just simply can’t understand what levels of depths are necessary to become as good as I am. For my age, I am pretty good I can tell you that. Contemporaries cannot beat me in their own game. There’ve been challenges but they seemed to fail all the battles against me, and ultimately the war. Thus, they have become only mediocre pianists and lifting out of this circle of pseudo-pianists. I am truly the best and this is undeniable. This girl looks rich, thin and had a beautiful face. Just the type I want, though she isn’t too smart but other things compensate this. Intelligence is not a requirement because I don’t want them to be with me for too long. It will become an unnecessary struggle that I don’t have time to handle. It’s hard to be the best.”

They both sat outside at a table with two chairs, which were designed for face to face interaction and romantic meetings. He watched the people moving on the street with a sickening expression, while she was completely absorbed by the pictures on a social website.

’”It was modern; the white walls were decorated with painted vines which were probably hand painted. The interior, I could not see much but apart from the walls there was a bar and behind it the kitchen door. We sat outside on wooden seats that looked like as it was made of cherry trees, but it wasn’t probably. The table was square shaped and salt and pepper holders and toothpicks were in the centre. Only business people were having lunch here, they acted busy and all but they were checking social websites on their phone. They did nothing essentially, very pretentious, and their suits reeked of cheapness.  She sat in front of me about a half meter away; I could smell the expensive scent of her perfume. She dressed quite attractively as I expected, but she did not seem to care much about anything.’

He got bored and started the conversation “It is a nice day. What do you do actually?”

She replied “I am studying at a university” and continued to touch her phone.

“What do you study?”

“Well it’s kind of like business but somewhat different. It’s really hard to describe.”

“So what kind of subjects do you have?”

“Every kind, you know business stuff.”

“I see” he said while nodding. “Probably, she does not even know what she is studying and as I can see she doesn’t really care about it. She is lost as many others, painlessly clicking the phone and probably doing nothing meaningful. She is pretty but pathetic. She’s just like many others a brat of rich parents. Maybe her parents attended my concert, because I am pretty sure they are in the trend as well. These girls may have different faces but all of them are from the same artificial womb.”

“And what are you doing?” she asked.

He smiles faintly and started to begin his monologue “You see, I am an artist, a pianist to be precise. Maybe you have already heard my name because I am pretty well known. I play solos from many composers with different styles and I write my own scores. I consider my style of play, unique. I haven’t heard anyone playing similarly like me, and I have heard many solos from many so called pianists. Critics consider me as the best pianist in Europe.” He would have continued for hours, but he was smart enough to realise that all the words he spread into the air would be blown away by the wind.

She was fumbling on her phone through his entire speech and without even looking at him she said s “Wow. You must be really good then.”

“I am indeed.” He said.

The pointless conversation was interrupted by the waiter serving their food. He had the most expensive meal from the list which he assumed to be probably very good and she had salad to keep her shape, since there was not even a single muscle fibre on her.

After the meal, he took out a toothpick and spun it in his mouth. “This waiter, I pity him. He does nothing all day, just serving people and cleaning tables. I might as well show him some gratitude.’

He tried to make eye contact with the waiter, but their eyes never met. He shouted “Hey! Come over here!”

The waiter stopped clearing the table and moved towards him “May I help you sir?”

He then took out a coin and shoved it to him “Here take it!”

The waiter made a rejecting expression “Sorry Sir, but I cannot accept this.”

He was surprised by the reaction “Why? It’s free! I know it is hard for you, doing nothing all day but clearing tables and serving people. You don’t look like someone who does any creative nor constructive work here. That’s why I thought, I would help you out.”

The waiter knew he was humiliated and tried to suppress his anger. He replied with a calm voice “Sir I cannot simply accept it.”

“But you accept tip, don’t you? Why is that okay and I’m giving you money, don’t I? I mean wouldn’t anyone accept money for free when someone gives him?”

The waiter disregarded all of the questions and quoted the rule of the restaurant “The tip is 10% of the total price of what the guest have consumed.”

He got upset due to the rejection of his gratitude “So you are saying that, I don’t give enough free money? You are aware that you are not doing anything special than just what you are told to do, but you still expect to get a tip. Your payment is fixed, and the tip is the extra. Do you know that other people only get the fixed amount for what they are doing? Here you are, expecting to get a tip when you are just doing your job and nothing extra. Then, when I give you free money that is not even the tip but simply free money, you reject it? How can you be so ungrateful?”

“The tip is 10% of the total price of what the guest have consumed.”  The waiter repeated while trying to retain a storm of rage in his body.

“You are just a poor bastard, who will do this job for eternity. You will never earn as much as I do in one year, which is pathetic. To throw away life like you do. I can only pity you. You are a worthless member of the society. Here is a ten.”

“Thank you, sir.” The waiter took the money and left.

She was so absorbed by her phone that she did not hear the entire conversation. She looked up and asked “Are we done?”

“Yes” he replied.

She stood up and left while still clinging on her phone.

“She is such a worthless and empty human. Stupid whore, she is not even a whore but a free rider which is worse because I will not get my money back and she doesn’t even give service. Truly, a bitch.”

 

III.  Party

This city is so decadent. Lovers on the streets, sinners in the toilets and lost souls at home.

He entered a club at the evening and his attire fit to a modern man’s appeal, elegant but not too classy. It was dark and the bass of the music resonated throughout the club. For him it was too dull, monotone and lacked creativity, but it suited his age group’s preferences. Not too complex, but people could dance to it and that was the purpose.  He went straight to the bar and ordered a whisky which was costly, yet money never mattered. The only thing that mattered was to get a girl home. That was why these social events in the evening existed, to get a girl. He leaned on the bar counter and glared through the crowd. He sighed “So many people and I cannot even see a pretty girl. This is quite tiresome. Why is that guy looking at me with a smile?  That is quite creepy. Girls either don’t care about what I do like that bitch I met today, or become wet by the statement ’I am a pianist’’’ he laughed.

He found a girl who was fit for the purpose and in terms of looks. He sipped from his drink and walked confidently towards her. She was dancing, probably did not even know where she was. She just enjoyed it, shaking her head while her hair swung in the air of artificial smoke. The lighting effects blinded him as the multicolour palettes of lights were quite irritating for his eyes. He approached her and smiled devilishly. He knew that dancing was the only way to get closer to her even if he did not like it. Finally, he whispered in her ear “Hi. I am a pianist, one of the best. I would like you to come home with me tonight.” She smiled back and he could read “Hi” from her lips. The dance continued for a few songs when at last he could ask her to join him for a drink. After, they ordered at the bar, they went outside because from the bashing of senseless electronic particles, they could not hear anything.

The conversation between them was mostly about how he became successful. She was amazed by the achievement and did not say a single word during a conversation. It was so overwhelming and well crafted speech that it left no gaps for anyone to interrupt it. Such elegance and modesty radiated from his words that it was charming and entirely believable.

Afterwards, he called a taxi and left with the feeling of success as if he received a trophy, when she realised something “Wait, I left my purse at my friend.  I’ll come back.” He was petrified for a moment, because he might have lost his prize and with a calm manner he answered “Sure.” She rushed backed to the club and while waiting he exit the taxi for a cigarette. As the door opened, his cigarette box fell onto the seat which the taxi driver took up and stretched his arm to him. He reached for the cigarette box while preparing a smile to show gratitude, when a cyclist came with sonic speed. The cyclist was so fast that for a drunken person it would take at least half a minute to realise that it was not something paranormal, but just a cyclist. The crashed on the taxi door, which caused a slamming motion, his arm was still halfway in the car. The door clamped his arm and he cried out in pain. The biker quickly came to his senses and intuitively; he fled away from the place.

The security guards rushed to the taxi to help him out. The called the ambulance, which came only half an hour later. All they could hear was the painful cry of the pianist, as he was lying on the ground holding his injured arm.

His eyes dilated and were so opened that they almost popped out.

“So much pain. Father, where are you? I feel lost in this world. When can I see you?

With these words he fainted. A man in a suit came out to watch him, while puffing out smoke from his mouth. He smiled at the whole accident. The girl, she never came back.

 

IV.  After-Party

Only a bed and a nightstand were in between the four white walls, and the ceramic floor with white and black squares evenly dispersed across the floor. There were two windows that gave a view into the garden which were full of young aspens. Not a single road, only tall grass and aspens as if the hospital was in a forest.  The sun shined intensely like on any other days of summer. A cup of water and his meal were on the nightstand which the nurse brought for him.

Eyes opened with a blinding light and he started to hear a voice that was not his “Son, are you awake?”

“Father is that you?” he shouted and with a hasty motion he sat up from the bad.

“No I’m a doctor.” The doctor said.

He seemed shocked, because he hoped he could finally meet with his father.  He lifted his arms to hold his head as he felt dizzy, due to the after effects of alcohol. His head was heavy and could not recollect the images and events of yesterday.  He felt a relief by holding his head with both of his hand but only one was there. The other one was lying on the side of him. His eyes were wide open from the shock as he looked to his left arm. He didn’t want to believe and tried to push out the thoughts, but like a bell ringing in his mind. “It’s not moving” this sentence repeatedly pounded his head.

“Doctor, what the hell is happening?”  he asked worriedly and his face started to melt from the sadness.

“You have suffered severe nerve damage from the car door. It seems that the nerves suffered so much, that you may not be able to move your left arm anymore.” The doctor calmly answered as required for his profession.

“But, but, but” he stuttered “I am a professional pianist. My hands are my instruments. Can’t you fix this somehow?”

’I am sorry to say this, but there’s nothing we can do. Your nerves have suffered so much damage that it is beyond the point of recovery.”

“This cannot be happening.”  With a heightened voice filled with anguish, he begged  “Just do something, please.”

“I’m afraid we cannot do anything, but we can amputate it. It will become a burden to carry an arm that is not functional.”

“No, I can’t. I just can’t believe this”’ he started to cry while his hand was hiding his face.

“I must leave now. Take your medication.” the doctor handed him pills “Your recovery may take a while, because of bone fractures. You can leave in a few days.” he left.

“No, no, no. It’s just not happening. “

Tides of fury and woe washed him away from the shores of reality. He was sitting on his bed, while his hand held his head to not show the tears flowing from the canals of his eyes.

 

V.  Breakdown

The apartment was tidy, when he entered. As soon as he saw his piano, he rushed to it and sat on the chair. He maintained the posture as he used to when he practiced. He started to play.

“I can hear the sounds, but I cannot feel my arm.”

He smashed the keys on his piano with his fist and started to burst into tears. Then he came to a realisation that his arm was not moving, it became useless. Nightmares he had in the hospital came to live again.

“What am I suppose to do now? I am a pianist, one of the best. My hands are my instruments, without them I am just another crippled soul in this world. I will become just a common human who has no point and meaning in his life.” He cried.

He sat down on his sofa with his evening attire on which reeked from smoke and alcohol.  After a few headshakes of disappointment, he went to the kitchen and opened the cupboard to see if there were drinks. He found a bottle of whisky and sat back into the sofa. The TV was turned on and at the same time he surfed on the internet.  The news was full of him.

The announcer reported “One of Europe’s best pianist has suffered severe injuries during the night a week ago. It is rumoured that he is never going to regain control over his left arm again.  We asked a professional psychologist who happens to be a medical expert as well regarding this accident. I will give you to him.”

“Thank you” said the doctor and continued “As seen from the pictures of his arm, our beloved pianist has suffered major nerve damage in the arm, which with any kind of operation cannot be recovered.  I’m afraid he will never be able to play with his left hand again. Despite the major arm injury, the psychological injuries are more severe.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked the reporter.

“You see, he was one of the best pianists in Europe. It is very difficult to digest the thought that he can never play again, especially for his age. He had milestones to reach. He may fall into a depression. If I may ask anyone who is watching this and has respected of likes this pianist. Please be in his support. The other factor that may affect him in a long-term is...’” The psychologist continued his analysis.

“He can never play again, he can never play again, he can never play again.” this sentence rang endlessly in his head. The throbbing pain was unbearable. He could not do anything against his destiny, but to numb all the frustration, fear, pain and hatred in him by gulping that bottle of whisky.

He passed out on the sofa, and the last thing he had seen on his computer monitor was an article title that said ’Falling off from the Throne.’

 

VI.  Past

The old smell of furniture was hanging in the air. The ceiling was cracked, but the floor was clean. Indeed, everything in this small apartment was clean in this regime ridden building. As a foreigner moving was hard as his family had to struggle through a continent to be in a safe haven.  Where he came from, poverty reigned over the people and who were finding food on street and torn apart by hunger.

He never knew his father. He tried to trace him from all the corners of his memory, but not a single image had showed up. Her mother gave him recollection of his father of being a strong man, who supported his family all lifelong.  Until they came to this country, he was little and all he left for his son was a piano that an antique store owner gave to him for present. Playing the piano started at the age of four like any other prodigies would start, but it was not the young age that led him to the spotlight. It was passion; days went by just with playing. He was hard on himself because the piano was the only thing that his father left. Not a single fracture of memory, but a piano.

Her mother was sick. At this young age his days were spent mostly on nursing her and playing the piano. Weariness and hunger could not stop him from playing; he did it until he almost passed out. His mother, who was like a guardian angel, was the one to tell him to stop. Without her he would have played for days without stopping.

As he grew older, he had gone through the education system as every child had to. He had flawless grades that he showed his mother, while nursing her in the sick bed. One day at the end of primary school he went home to do the same routine, but it was different. The presence of death was stagnant in the air, and he saw her mother motionless in bed. He thought she was sleeping, but mother never woke up again. His school certificate, full with perfect grades, fell on the ground. He started to shake her calling “Mother, Mother. Wake up!”, but she never woke up.

The day after the ambulance took her from him. The medic said to him “Son, stay strong!” He was unaffected by the words and sat on the piano stool not knowing what to do. Yet, a strange emotion approached him and advised him to play the piano. Energies took over him and he started to play until he passed out.

He became so good at it that he won district competitions and his successes grew broader, until he became one of the best in Europe.  He had many teachers during his younger lifetime, because he was angry that every time it was just constant repetition. This composer than that composer, he felt he never learned something new. When the time came that he graduated from the most prestigious music academy, he was freed by the chains of countless tutors. Probably, they wanted to control him because they feared the potential he had.

Luckily, he realised at early age that repetitions are necessary because no one could become a master without the basics, but what distinguished a true artist from a mediocre pianist is creation. Artists could transfer their state of mind into something tangible in the world, while players just imitate until perfection. There was nothing original in that and he knew it.

He lived independently, gave concerts all around Europe and won prestigious certificates and prizes, and he was considered as one of the youngest and best pianist in Europe, even though he was not even European.  However, he could never forget the struggles he had to face to come to this point. In his apartment, every time he sat down in front his piano. A voice started to speak to him. A weakening voice that said “It is beautiful son, your father must be proud of you!” It reminded him that he could never really say goodbye to her, and his father who he never met.  He could not remember what kind of illness it was, but it was devastating. It took half of his soul away and left an open wound.

 

VII.  Phantom

Alcohol soaked days and sleepless nights. He lied on the sofa in his fancy apartment. The glass table in front of him was filled with empty bottles and full ashtrays, cigarette stubs piled up like mountains. The stench in his apartment was unbearable, like a gathering of street bums on landfills, but he could not smell it. He blinked slowly and with every moment, he saw his fame fading. Everything he achieved and the position he held in the classical music world was lost. He became a beggar. He fell into such depths that he might never recover from.  “Life never seemed so bleak and empty, might as just well end it now.”

He lifted himself from his custom made sofa and moved towards the bathroom. There, he filled his bathtub with water while he sipped the last drops from the bottle of whisky and burned cigarettes through his lungs. He removed his clothes and dived into the cold water. He lied there watching the empty ceiling. The thoughts of lost fame, lost life continued to run through his mind. He wanted out from this.  He took out a razorblade and started to cut himself. Bleeding was messy as he did not know where to cut; therefore he made multiple cuts on his arm, hoping that one of them will hit the right vein.

“I want to feel pain, but even pain is not present. There is blood, but no pain. I still can’t move my arm. I could scream, but no one would hear me as if I am the only one who exists in this city. Everyone is dead to me. There is no one living around me. I am alone.”

The moment he thought it was the last blink he took, somebody appeared next to his bathtub. Like a fish that was freshly taken out from the ocean, he moved uncontrollably in the red water.

He shouted loudly and shockingly “Who the fuck are you?”

The gentleman, who stood now in front of him, was dressed in the most exquisite and elegant suit he had ever seen, grinned and with a low tone but very sophisticated voice said “I am another you.”

He continued to shout “How can this be possible? How the hell did you even get here?” He remembered back that he closed the door and all the windows were tight shut. There was no possible way anyone could disturb him. The bathroom was filled with a dense air of mystery that in a strange way calmed him.

“There. There. Don’t be so upset. Haven’t you seen yourself in the mirror before? I don’t understand why you are so surprised by me. We have met before you silly boy.” The gentleman continued to smile while made an embracing gesture with his arm.

“I still don’t get it. How the hell is this possible?”

“Well, let’s say that I am here for a reason. Your pitiful acts these days were... quite unusual and that’s why I have to stop your little foolish game.’

He bursted out with anger “Game? This is what you call a game? I am tormented! My life is in ruins! I lost my fucking hand! I cannot play anymore! My career is gone! I can’t do anything! This life is pointless!”

With a calming voice, the gentleman continued “Now, I hope you have released all your anger out by now, because this is not the time for that. You have a very important mission. It’s not the end of all, but a beginning.”

He was very confused by the words the gentleman said and asked “A Beginning? What are you talking about? This is a dead end!”

“I have no choice but to shut you, if you don’t let me continue. You see, there is something your mother never told you about your father. He has been a very powerful man if I can say that, and left you a gift. It is nothing physical, it is inside you.”

“Wasn’t the piano my gift? Inside me? What on earth could be inside me? I am empty!”

“Don’t say that! I just told you about this. How could you possibly know, silly boy. Nevermind, I am here to release this. There is an orb inside you, a very dark one. No one on this entire universe has it only you and I have the key.”

“What happens if you open it?” He was getting desperate.

“How should I say this, it gives you energy.” The gentleman laughed. “This orb is not entirely locked. Some of its energies have been already leaked out. You have felt it many times before. I know it because I am you. “He pauses ’I am here because I require your permission to open the seal. It is up to you to decide whether to open or not. You still can end life here, but what’s the point of that when you still have many things ahead of you? I think now it isn’t the time to fool around.”

“But, but these energies, power or whatever... what do they do for me?”

“Anything you wish for. Just say yes.” The gentleman grins.

He looked around, but the gentleman in front of him did not disappear. He was dancing on the boundaries of transcendence and reality. He thought about the whole thing, re-ran it as many times as possible.

 “Can it really change me and my entire life?” he asked.

“I don’t have much time left my friend.” the gentleman stated impatiently.

“Let it be.” He said these words as if he was already dead and nothing mattered anymore, because losing is the last thing he would do in life.

“Very well, a wise choice.” The gentleman said satisfyingly. The gentleman neared him and put his hand into his chest, as it touched him, he felt a strange flow of energy passing through him. He never felt such surge before; it was just strange to him. Then, he passed out on the floor.

 

VIII.  Conscience

He woke up in his bathtub. Suddenly, he lifted himself up and looked around to find the gentleman, but no one was there. It took him a while to realise that he lifted himself with two arms. When it came to his mind he quickly glared at his left arm and it was not bleeding. Every single cell was alive and living, all of his muscles worked properly like a miracle. He rushed to his piano and played a song he remembered well. Melodies hung on air and the room was filled by the sound of mastery again.  He was back again, as if nothing happened.

 

IX.  Resurrection

He was in the concert hall again. The man introduced him and the crowd started to clap loudly. He come out slowly and looked around with a smile, the crowd was still. The room was full with rich people again, who were chatting about pseudo intellectual topics that were trending in their social circles.

“There’s no difference. Like before, these people are still here, hungry for my show. Faces are smeared in fake gold and glamour, like a pile of faeces coated in sugar and served to the mindless followers of hypocrisy. It disgusts me. I still cannot comprehend the immense hatred I have for them. It became a giant that can crush any metropolis with a single arm swing, yet it collapses and disappears.”

The solo began and when the first note was hit, strange dark energies flowed out of him. Dark tentacles spread out to the crowds that tangled their neck which were tenderly caressing like they did mean no harm. Amazement filled their eyes and burst in tears by his revelation.  There was no light blinding the audience at the end of his performance, darkness continued to hang in the concert hall. But nothing felt different like before, except him.

“All these low lives, I cannot even feel pity for them. I look up, but there is no light. Only darkness is present in this hall. The audience embraces me with silence and hollow eyes. It does not bother me. I know he is watching me smiling, sipping his expensive drink. He wants to make me laugh, but not a single muscle will move on my face. My adversaries have tried to pull me down; they have lost in their own game. There will be no escape from the endless misfortune they will have to face from losing battles. War, is endless and I have not reached the top yet. I belong there because it is my kingdom. I feel him lurking inside me, trying to become me but it will never happen. Struggle is unnecessary, as he is already repressed. Emotions are not present. No hate, love, fear, nor happiness, nothing. I am the true form of an artist not like any other pianists; they are just cheap copycats and con men. There is no one on the face of the Earth that can be compared to me. I am their light. I am the night. I am eternal. ’

He silently mumbled in front of the crowd.

“God is me.”


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