Chapter 15 · free to read
He had brought a piano into a flooded building. It had taken a winch and most of a night, and nobody who helped had asked why.
The eleven minutes of broadcast had run out an hour ago. He came anyway, alone, because it was the only door left.
Eight minutes. Water at his ankles, one hand, and a piece he had never heard performed and had apparently written.
Four bodies staged to music written in a ward. And a sixth movement, in his own hand, dated to a night he had spent alone in a locked club with the keys in his pocket.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.