draliman on life

Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. The photo this week was contributed by John Nixon and is another repeat. Before my time, however, so it’s new to me.

It’s a mad-looking picture so I’ve written a mad story. Perhaps next week this crazy writing will end and I’ll manage a more sensible story :-).

For this week’s other entries, click on the blue froggy.

Copyright John Nixon

His fingers flew across the keys, sweat glistening, heart pumping faster and faster, breathing becoming laboured… he lost himself, becoming one with the piano itself, impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

With a flourish, he hit the final triumphant chord, turned, gave a quick bow and collapsed, exhausted, into his seat.

His audience looked on, faces blank. Finally, one of them spoke.

“That’s all very well, Mr Davis, but where were you on the night of the fourteenth between nine and eleven pm?”

Note to self: Interview Room 1 is no place for a piano. Move to canteen.