The Age Of Guilt

The wooden case was dusted, bringing the piano back to life. It had to happen when his father breathed his last. His last wish melted in the air, merging with his son’s guilt.

The keys were elegantly pressed, transmitting emotions into them. Hammers hit the strings as the owner’s command— manufacturing the required piece which was once in demand. Gradual progression of the seconds turned the emotions fierce. The keys were now the receiver of guilt, frustration of a son who failed to fulfil his father’s wish. Music was wild.

The forty year old piano never encountered dust again, guilt turned 33.


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