I sat with my eyes closed, slowly running my fingers across them, remembering each one and their sound, I played, oh how I played. Andrew Lloyd Webber, Music of the Night, how fitting it was. The keys greeted me like old friends; I remembered all the battles I had fought with them in order to become this acquainted, all the places they had taken me, all the sacrifices I had made to continue playing. This was my life, my whole life, what now, forced retirement? So, I sat, alone in my room, with my piano, playing upon my old friends, my only friends, the only friends I ever wanted. My friends were poor company without an audience. Now, who would I play for?

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