by Elizabeth Arlen
When the police came upstairs to talk to me (I would not move from where I was) I was completely incoherent, babbling things like, "It was the piano!" and "It possessed me!" At court, they made me plead insanity, and I'm sure that I did indeed sound quite mad as I told them about the dreams and the piano.
I spend most of my days sleeping still; it's a hard habit to break once you get yourself in the motion. The dreams have never left me, and the nurses say that I still wander around at night and they find me at the meeting room piano. They give me drugs and started to strap me to my bed at night, but it never seems to make much of a difference; they still find me at that piano.
I don't think it mattered if the piano was his or not, I think the tune just lives in someone once they come in contact with the piano. It will live with me until I die, and now that I've been at another piano, it will probably haunt somebody else. The melody will never die; it is just too strong. Tonight, I hope it dies as I do, but I know otherwise.
AN: I know this is really short and I probably could have attached it to chapter seven, but I really wanted it to stand on its own as a section. Well? This is the end of The Piano, I hope you liked it. Any comments or questions are very welcomed and encouraged.