The Piano

It was the most beautiful sound in the world. Seriously, that girl could play the piano like nobody’s business. Her death was tragic. I remember it so well, even though I’ve been trying to get it out of my head since the day it happened.
She was only 15.
It was a drunk driver.
The day she came to my house, and managed to get something beautiful to come out of our old, dusty piano.
We offered to drive her home. She declined politely, explaining her house was just a few blocks away.
It was dark outside.
My mom told her to call us when she got home.
She never did.
Right outside of our house. She was crossing the street, and he came zooming down the road, and hit her.
Her death was painless.
For her, at least.
That night, as I was crying in my bed, I heard a noise. A song.
It was the piano. I walked downstairs, and went into the song room. There was the piano.
Sitting at the bench was her.

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