Campanella

He had always dreamt of playing the piano really well.

However, after years of practice, he knew he would never be anything beyond mediocre. Knowing this hadn’t stopped him for putting his name down for the local piano competition that would take place in the town’s concert hall. He would have to admit that he had put the best possible spin on it, regarding his playing ability, when filling out the application form. He would go for broke; give it his best shot. What did he have to lose? It must have worked, because a couple of days later he received a letter from the organisers letting him know that his application had been successful. This came together with further information about the event in a glossy brochure.

His foray into the world of performing, both with and against others, made him understandably nervous. Especially as he had stretched the truth to the limit on the application form. So much so, that he found himself discussing the whole thing with a perfect stranger the following evening.

Nevertheless, he was determined to play ‘La Campanella’ by Franz Liszt, a Hungarian composer. It was a particularly difficult piece to play, but he figured he would at least earn brownie points for giving it a go.

Now, the night before the event, he couldn’t help wondering whether the conversation he’d had with the odd character in the pub would actually help him to play well. He had certainly been extremely positive about how well he would do once he was on the piano stool.

On the night, he was told that he’d be the fifth of six pianists to perform. He sat in the wings with others. He hoped that nobody noticed the tremendous surge of anxiety that swept over him while he waited.

When his turn came, he walked onto the stage wondering whether he should even attempt the piece, but there was no turning back. He sat, and for a few unbelievable minutes, watched, as his hands moved around the keys, giving a perfect rendition of the piece.

There was a short silence, followed by thunderous applause that seemed to fill the entire building.

He left the stage in a state of complete bewilderment

When the last performer had played their piece, there was a short interval, leaving the audience murmuring amongst themselves.

It was as he was receiving the first-place certificate, together with an unexpected bouquet of flowers, that he felt an unusual tiredness come over him.

It was while taking a final bow the he suddenly collapsed.

As his last breath left his body, somewhere in his head, he heard a gleeful voice whispering, “It was only a verbal contract, but it holds good, you are mine now.”

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