52.

Her pupil’s fingers played the piano like they were discovering new lands — prodigious leaps over entire valleys of sound no ordinary child should have ventured. “Wonderful, Edgar,” she praised, touching his shoulder, “you’re on perfection’s edge!” She let his music carry her to the world outside the studio, to the masses, virulent with deaf-rendering parasites, patrolling the soundless streets, barricaded from the conservatory and its denizens. Edgar played on, numb to the beauty abounding from his performance; the last Listener, his teacher, wept against the bolted window.  

grh

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2 thoughts on “52.

  1. Perfection! Brimming with feeling and love. You style is lovely, the way you portray the scene and the characters feel like as if I have known them for ages. Every words is perfectly placed, every sentence is extremely beautiful. Keep it up! You have great potential! Thank you for sharing! 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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