In the storage cage next to mine in the basement of the apartment block sat an old piano. It was dark brown, the lid up showing white and black keys and the stool pulled out as if someone was about to sit down to play.
I asked my neighbour about it and she told me, with sadness in her voice and face, that the piano was her mother’s and she couldn’t part with the instrument.
‘Sometimes,’ she added, ‘I can hear it.’
That night for the time as I fell asleep, I heard the tinkling of piano notes coming from the basement.
(Inspired by; https://rochellewisoff.com/2019/11/20/22-november-2019/ with thanks).
The Story Files 