#xpianist

He thought he was alone in the cabin. He thought he’d be alone for awhile still. With everything that had been going on, he needed an escape. He couldn’t seem to stop his thoughts from running rampant. From plotting and scheming and worrying. So he found himself in the one place he ever really found a sense of calm from time to time. The attic. His homemade greenhouse. But he hadn’t gone up there to tend to his plants. 

His grand piano sat beside the bay window, sunlight gleaming off its glossy black surface. Sean was perched on the bench, running his fingers along the polished ivory keys. He chewed his lip, taking a glance around as if ghosts may be standing there to watch him. No, he was alone.

Exhaling a quiet sigh, he poised his fingers above a specific set of keys and paused a beat before beginning to thrum out a tune. The weary Irishman played with an elegant grace that came with years of practice and experience. Sean was a different man altogether sitting behind a piano. As if he’d never grown up a murderer. As if his life had been different. An escape.