• Her fingers twitched, longing for the feelings of the cool ivory beneath them. She could hear the sound in her head; a soft, slow piece, one that you wouldn’t notice at first, but when you really stopped, really listened, you realized how beautiful it was, how special it was.

    She counted softly to herself, “One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four…” No one noticed; they never did. The Listened didn’t mind, she liked when they didn’t notice, she liked being alone with Sound, nobody watching, no one listening, no one judging, just her, that was all the audience she needed.

    But there was one other, one who watched and listened and saw as much as the Listener did. She scratched the led against the paper, making the copy of the Listener; head bent, eyes closed, hand in the air, keeping the time of Sound. The Listener stopped, suddenly aware of the Watcher. She looked at the Watcher and didn’t know what to make of her. Would she judge or could she feel It too?

    The Watcher looked away, but the Listener didn’t; sometime about the Watcher seemed different – or familiar. She wasn’t like the rest, the Watcher understood, but was afraid, of what, the Listener could not figure out.

    Her fingers kept twitching, making the silent Sound, but her eyes remained on the Watcher, begging her to look up, make eye contact, acknowledge the Listener. She did. Her eyes met hers, and they smiled.