It hadn’t even occurred to him that Matilda had never seen that look on his face before. She had never been around on those nights; those nights where he would come home and not even be able to look at himself. He believed in what he was fighting for, and would do whatever his Dark Lord commanded of him…but that didn’t mean sometimes the cries didn’t get to him. That often times, when he had murdered women and children, and they would cry and sob and beg him for mercy, scream and plead for him to spare them…but received nothing but a quick death as a sign of pity. They were beneath him, all of them in some way or another…but that sound. The sound of women crying…the sound of people making that noise because of him…that was what got to him.
As she sat down on the bench beside him, he let his fingertips graze along the tops of the piano keys, although he didn’t play anything. He just let her stare at him, looking down at what he was touching before he finally spoke.
“…I can’t remember the last time I played…”
The words weren’t what she wanted to hear, but at the moment he was sort of in his own little world. He didn’t care about what she wanted to hear. His voice didn’t even sound like his own. It was quiet, low, and a little gravelly.
“…it must have been…years ago.”
He paused before he finally turned to face her. His eyes were pretty glassy, since he was fairly drunk by this point. “...do you play?” He asked before he turned back to look at the piano. “…I thought I’d forgotten how…”
(Read comments)
Post a comment in response:
scribbld is part of the horse.13 network
Design by Jimmy B.
Logo created by 
hitsuzen.
Scribbld System Status
