The notes were played skillfully, and the sound extended around the corners of the apartment. His fingers moved placidly over the teeth of the piano, as his head moved to the rhythm of Mozart. You could see his body over there, sitting and playing this wonderful instrument, yet his soul and mind had been transported to some other place. He was elsewhere, in which another hour was ticking, and the day of the calendar didn’t match the one on the wall.



The sound kept contaminating everything around it, and the setting changed as the notes stuck to the walls. The wrinkles of the man’s hands were replaced by normal pinkish hands, which kept moving rapidly. As the notes kept flowing from a rusty, broken old piano, the instrument became a lustrous black-tailed piano that seduced every eye in the room. The place changed its image slowly, as if with every silence that the music created, it erased a part of the setting, replacing it for something quite more shiny and beautiful. The cracked, broken white ceiling changed to one perfectly flat and decorated by a chandelier, which shined with every spark of light that emanated from it. The music proceeded on its way, and the man became the center of where various eyes looked, eager to know how he did it.



The man kept his eyes closed as his heart rate stabilized, and his mind drained itself of thought. He could hear his breath, and for a moment in which the notes were stopped by a silence, he took a long deep breath in which emptiness invaded the concert. The people in their seats moved slightly, expecting something grand; the hands of the man lifted, like a wave which was going to crash with all its force against a rock, and then lowered.



A wave swept through the hair of the listeners, making them see the picaresque beauty of the music, and they smiled happily as they remembered childhood moments, where everything seemed spectacular and new. The music followed an order of long notes in which everyone breathed for a moment before submerging themselves into the waters of sound. It invaded the walls, and the man kept his eyes shut. He moved his hands rapidly and his breath quickened, as if he was in a race and saw the end on the horizon. The tempo slowed, and the man breathed tranquility as his influence in this story was waning. He played the last note leaving his finger on top of the tooth, and allowed it to envelope the room.



The note extended, and changed everything around it; the ceiling cracked and the floor aged as it became a source of sound for the feet. The piano slowly browned, and its size decreased significantly. The finger once again found its wrinkles and yellowish color, and the man smiled tiredly, for the body of the old man had suddenly felt the years of his life catch up to him. He opened his eyes slowly to encounter eyes as beautiful and green as the ocean, looking at him intensely.



“Grandpa, where were you right now?” the small creature asked.


The old man looked at her and simply said, “Sweet tiny thing, time has kept on rolling, but history is something that I will always look back at, and love, for otherwise, time wouldn’t exist.”