//------------------------------//
// Echoes [Bittersweet...?]  
// Story: Ragtime Dandies 
// by NotHereAnymoreProbably 
//------------------------------//

Echoes

All the lights went out, and a hush swept out over the auditorium. The audience waited, with wide eyes and pent breath, for exactly the same thing I did; for the curtains to open and expose me to the world.

Would I succeed? Would I fail? I took a deep breath to steady myself, but it did nothing to ease my trembling hooves and treacherous thoughts – and yet, I still felt an odd sense of optimism. So much of my life rested upon the outcome of this performance, but I could somehow feel it; I would do just fine. Regardless, I checked myself over once more, straightening my tie and tugging on my cuffs a little.

The quiet hiss of the curtains drawing back was all the warning I had; the stage lights came on, illuminating me at the forefront of the stage, sitting before a large, black piano. Suddenly, I had the complete and undivided attention of a lot of ponies, and my heartbeat rose even higher.

I set my hooves against the ivory keys, and remembered something my teacher had once said. “Your audience won’t be there to see you; they’re there to hear you. The music is yours, and they’ll give you all the time you need to weave it.”

Taking a final, deep breath, I began.

The song I played was one I knew well; not only had hours of practice cemented its soft, lilting melody, but it was in fact the first song I ever wrote – it was a simple piece, dedicated to my mother. I remembered the first time I played it – even now, it still felt as though her loving eyes were watching over me as I played, not for one pony, but for a thousand.

Each keystroke trilled like birdsong; each note I played meant something, and resonated joyfully, dancing in the air for just a moment before it melted into the wide, sweeping theme. The music was like a conduit for my emotions, molding the carefree memories of my childhood into an audible, beautiful form.

And then, a change. A body, broken and lifeless; a child crying loudly over it. My grandfather comforting me, even as he himself wept. The days that came afterward, wandering around aimlessly as though my life had lost all purpose.

And finally, the day when I once again laid eyes on that tall, grand piano.

I couldn’t see the music sheets through the tears in my eyes, but nor did I need to; I knew it all by heart. So I shut my eyes and played by feel, and let the song wash over me; I played until the song reached its climax, and I played on through its bittersweet dénouement, until at last I played the final note, and let it sing its lonely song.

All was silent as, with my hooves free, I wiped my eyes and stood. Walking with unsure steps to the edge of the stage, I took a deep, long bow, then righted myself once more. From the darkness beyond, I heard a single clop. Then another, and still one more – then the entire auditorium filled with the sound of ovation.

I could only bow again, smiling.