Keys of War

Toshi (my roommate, so you'll read about him semi-frequently) has done the unimaginable. He has delivered a blow that can only be met with swift and brutal retaliation, a disproportional response involving burning down his village and sewing the ground with salt.

He's taken his Keyboard out of the basement. The musical kind.

Through the years people have told me I have piano hands, the long nimble fingers ideal to play. Coupled with a few high school years of music class and after school band so I can read music, I have the irrational delusion that I can play the piano.

It turns out, I can not. At all. Not one bit. In fact, I'm downright horrible. So now, the keyboard sits in our geek room mocking me in it's silence. Under his trained hands it sings happy birthday and little brown jug. Under my inept clumsy bashing, it screams and wails, our wine glasses shatter and the cats howl like dogs.

I have begun the search for lessons. Some one local. Preferably some bitter old woman who beats me with a ruler when I make a mistake.

I will master his noise device, claim it for my own and destroy him as I steal away it's love.

Cold snarling righteous retribution.

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