The Myth of the Musical Murder

The Myth of the Musical Murder

A finger had slipped off the black keys,

And consequently, an eerie noise grew over the band room.

It filled the space with an obvious hum 

That made everyone flinch and all eyes dart to the tall man.

The tall man with greasy hair began to furiously shake,

And stomped loudly in a slow, agonizing pace as he approached the pianist.

His angel-like, comely hands dropped to his lap

As the man that taught music hovered the boy on the black piano bench.

As a quick slap went across a wet cheek, 

the music man suddenly went quiet and picked up the trembling hands.

He looked at the hands with haste in his eyes, 

And held it close to his face with his scratchy beard brushing against it gently.

He spoke in a hushed whisper almost undetected:

“Beautiful hands with soft fingers... 

A True star is finally upon us.”

The hands retreated back to the boy’s lap,

With a sense of confusion as his eyes returned to the music and keys.

A dream of fame was all the boy destined,

Under any circumstances he was determined to make it a true reality.

When class ended and the music died down,

He packed up his sheets along with his determination, 

But on his way out the door, a slip of paper crunched in the soles of his left shoe.

Removing the leather shell, green sock, and worn sole,

A dull yellow strip of paper emerged that read:

Do not miss a note nor a beat of time

Beware of the Band of Glump County High.

Startled and somewhat annoyed, the boy shred the friable paper into yellow particles that fluttered to the floor.

He was going to be the best musician in the world, and nobody was going to stop his destiny from coming true.

However, what the boy did not know was that this dream wasn’t new.

He returned the next day with feelings of anxiety and confidence stuck in his throat like a ball about to burst. 

As he sat on the black bench, he began to play furiously once more with his eyes barely looking down at the keys. 

As he hubristically played, he didn't notice someone else join on a lower octave, nor the strange trance that clouded his mind.

Hours they played without missing or misstepping a single note, and gradually everyone else began to leave for their following classes.

When the chords began to merge and their fingers slowly came closer to the center, the boy suddenly shrieked and collapsed off the stool.

Next to him was nothing of human nature, 

It had a dark gray color and wrinkly appearance with random brown spots from where the skin had rotted. 

From the precise style and the way the musical keys were harshly pressed to the piano, the boy strangely recognized who played in such a manner.

He dashed for the exit, but the door was locked.

He began to pound on the door, not noticing the music had stopped.

The boy turned around and saw the hands that now stood still 

They cracked their knuckles together loudly, and jumped from the piano to the forest of music stands,

where the spurious teacher was sitting with a smile. 

His voice sounded dry in a deep tone, like the octave his hands played on the piano. His words were very articulated like gears in a clock, in a simple tempo that was so perfect in each breath. 

He never sped nor slowed down his production of turgid words which was unlike any human the boy ever heard.

“For I am the savior to the music;

I have protected the fine music world 

For over millions of centuries...

I can already sense your confusion, 

Having musical prowess like my own

Is simply impossible, however...

I have simply been aided by fate.”

He lifted his arms and his loose sleeves slowly dragged down to his elbows, revealing multiple scars and a horrid absence at both his wrists. 

He began to attach his hands slowly back to his arms that suddenly went limp, with a disturbing crack of a bone connecting them once more. 

His eyes never left the boy’s hands, with a look of hunger tainted into his eyes.

He spoke once more, with his smile more crooked than before. 

“Unfortunately, fate did not visit

For over the past few centuries. 

My own beautiful hands are now worn,

and just as haplessness has taken me...

This talent has once again came to me.”

He rose from the chair as the incredulous boy began to scream while pounding on the door, but the man of music had finally found his own destiny.

The man hoisted the boy up, his feet dangling, but unlike his previous talents, the boy fought back with a swift, hard kick in the tall man’s stomach.

A screech bellowed from the music man, and the boy was immediately dropped back to his feet. 

He ran into the man's office and while peeping through the door, he saw the man lying on the ground.

His hand was clasped around his stomach, with his head pointed down in an agonizing silence.

Suddenly, he began to puke objects resembling nuts and bolts in a black, shiny liquid against the dull black floor.

His eyes went black and his head cracked to one side, glaring at the tremulous eyes from inside his own office.

His greasy eyebrows and forehead began to crease with rage as a sly smile grew onto one side of his face.

The boy shut the curtains, blockaded the door, and pulled out his phone. 

He thought about calling the police, but what good what they do against the music man?

So he logged onto Twitter and began to post what just had happened, but to the boy’s horror, there were not enough characters to write what had occurred. 

Suddenly, a smack hit him hard on the back of the head, and he collapsed to the dusty floor with black splotches seeping into his shirt. 

He didn't even have to look up to know who was there, so he decided to close his eyes and accept this fate as his true destiny.

In his closing words, the music man smiled through his yellow, cracked teeth and whispered tortuously into the boys ear:

“It-   is imposs-ible to run a   way fro- your fate,

Co-me, close -e curt ain of   imagin ation,

You’ reee true desssstiny a-waits.”