Our red nosed friend

Prologue

In an otherwise completely dark room, a bright lamp shows a boy in his late teens, kneeled down in front of a black piano. His long fingers move gently over the piano's surface, carefully feeling all the cracks in the varnish. Each time his fingers have finished inspecting a square inch patch of varnish, he takes a towel with some polisher and carefully polishes all tiny cracks and dust away. Without pausing, his fingers move on to the next patch, and the next, and the next. As if they are yet to discover the concept of time, his hands continue to feel and polish the piano's surface for hours on end. Every couple minutes a drop of sweat falls from his nose, forming a small puddle on the ground, but his hands take no notice of it. They work as if their sole purpose is to make that piano shine like it never shined before. And it does. The varnish on the first polished patches appears to have decided to shine. As if the brush had silently told it to make the lamp proud, the varnish reflects the light like only piano-varnish can, showing off the smooth surface. As the boy's hands progress slowly over time, more and more of the varnish joins in with the smooth surface of the patches where the polisher has done it's job. After his hands have finished the last patch of the piano, the boy seems to wake from his trance and mumbles softly: "Love and dedication will be rewarded." Knowing that his body won't be able to support him for much longer, he takes place on the piano stool. As soon as he has pulled himself up and his jeans touch the wooden stool, his thumb touches the first piano key. Again, his long fingers move gently over the piano, this time feeling the keys. As if waiting for gravity to lend them a hand, his fingers now lay motionless on the keys for a while. Finally, his thumb decides it's time to start and with no more strength then needed presses down the key. Taking confidence from the warm sound that enters the room, his ring finger follows suit. Gradually, more and more fingers join in, teasing the ear for what's to come. His left hand shifts to allow a different set of keys to enjoy the touch of his fingers. The keys obediently fill the room with the right tone at the right volume, as his fingers play their first chord. A melancholic melody emerges between the echos of past tones, slowly increasing in speed and volume without losing accuracy. Every time his fingers shift to a higher gear a slight sense of desperation blends in with the melody. Faster and louder every second, that same melody now sounds completely desperate. The boy shakes from exhaustion while a stream of sweat runs down his back, but, with the last bit of energy within him, forces his fingers to continue. At the climax, just before the dramatic ending your ears are so gratefully anticipating, the boy collapses. His head drops down on the keys, gratifying your ears with the most dramatic ending they could have wished for. As the room fills itself with echo's of that one dramatic tone, he mumbles: "Love and dedication will be rewarded," before closing his eyes.