In the soft solitude and silence, He found comfort in the feeling of His hands sliding across the keys. From Ivory to Ebony, then back again to Ivory, each gentle tap plucked a string. This was His happy place, a place where He was free from the cruel pain of the "Real World."It was in this small room, a room whose neglect could be seen in every inch that He hid. What was He hiding from? That is a question only He could answer. He began to smile, finding joy in the sound His fingers created. His mind began to wander. It was in this wandering that He came upon a dark cloud.

He paused mentally, a torrent of brutalities and agony impressing themselves into every stroke. His eyes filled with water, threatening to burst into rainfall upon the Ebony and the Ivory. He managed to keep his friends parched, free from the oppression of his snivelling. He could feel their concern for Him, echoed in the sounds of their notes.

Continuing along His own memory's road, the requiem turned slowly, the minor melody melting, melting, melting. Starting from the bottom, the music changed. The excitement returned, but still He chose to clutch desperately towards his sorrow and frustration, leaving a somewhat bitter undertone to resonate thoughtfully ’twixt the floorboards. He knew that They knew what his mind wanted. They knew that this grasp upon the wistful would steadily win out over the seemingly jubilant exterior. Even the Ebony and the Ivory could sense where it was going, for it always ended this way.

The piece again took upon itself a crescendo, but instead of the Minor notes departing, it was the Major who were ushered out. He froze mentally yet again, knowing the cruelty of what He was about to do to the Ebony and the Ivory, and yet, He knew, They knew what had to be. The rise and fall of his hands, descending upon the Ebony and the Ivory akin to a paramedic de-fibrillating a casualty, assumed a desperation, His facial expression declining from focused to frenzied in the space of the beating of a heart. They screamed their protest. He paused, lifting hands and feet from Them, allowing all an opportunity to breathe, and the silence to engulf each and every one of them. For a few moments, there was naught but the pounding of Heart filling the air.

Forcing himself to calm, He continued, but gentler, akin to the beginning. How He longed that all could be as it it was in the beginning, simple, carefree, and in a state of jubilee. Even so, no matter how brief, He, as well as the Ebony and the Ivory, were satisfied with the respite. Mentally returning to His memory's lane, the melody became full, joyous again, They responded to His mood, content with where They were. And so it continued until finally, He was finished. Rising, He took a bow, and basked in the applause of the empty room. Bidding farewell to his staunchest friends, He took His leave, for the Ebony and the Ivory were not how He made His living, but how He made Himself alive.