He outsets pianissimo as he sounds the story ofkings and queens from his melody in the wind. His fingers explode like aglacier splashing into the Alaskan sea. In a downward spiral, he can'tstop. He won't stop. Stirring in a dream, crescendoing anddecrescendoing, he falls deep into the harmony, oblivious to themonotone that surrounds him. As he inhales, the ice crystal papers beginto whirl. The memories forgotten deep within the walls thunder asthey're ripped from their home. Like an undertow, he sucks in anotherdeep breath. With insanity, he thrusts his lips to the life line of hisfugue. His lips dripping blood from the pressure of teeth grindingthrough skin, he continues in vain. Blundering through the artery to allhis pleasure, he sails by each minty phrase; the print has become ariver of black ink. Coating his train of thought with rhythm and life,he wanders on with nothing to guide him but his soul. His charcoal hairis sharp and clean like each blast of air he storms. With his eyebrowsmounting and his lips crimping, he lets out a last gasp as he peaks hisarms to his temples. With his head locked to the right and his shoulderstied back behind his neck, his face turns scarlet as he plays, gamblingwith everything he loves. Short of air, he rises to his toes and archeshis back. He has reached his forte, a true musician. He plays the musicof heroes.