For One Last Time

I watched as her fingers moved along the keyboard with grace and a beauty that others could never match. Her face was a mask of calm and contentment, opposite from the controversy of war and juvenile opinions going on outside the small piano bar. The piano bar that was perfectly located on the outskirts of town.

In this bar we were free from the awkward conversations about whether we agreed with the war on the Elsies or if we sympathized. We were free from judgment in the harsh aftermath of the financial crisis the Elsies caused us.

Here, in this place, in this piano bar, as her hands moved across the keys like she invented music herself; it was like she was the holder of our happiness. I didn’t allow myself to ponder how we all had the same idea to surrender here. How when the bomb alarm sounded letting us know that the Elsies were attacking we all shuffled in quietly as if walking into a loved one’s funeral.

The bombs were a signal that we had lost the war that we initiated. When they made it this far to the outskirts of town, we all knew that we’d lose our lives as well.

However, at this moment, in the piano bar that was filled to the rafters, we weren't on our hypothetical deathbeds. We were living for the first time in three years. We were sitting as comrades and family instead of as enemies and survivors. There was no argument on which team would leave town for the water run. There were no disputes on who would go underground to help stock our weapons. There was no longer fear on how we would protect our wives or our children.

The underground team had sent word days ago that not only were the Rebels winning but that there was a Sanctuary not too far from us that was protected and willing to take on our women and children. We’d agreed that the fight was over and that we’d have to make sacrifices to make sure our families survived on.

We sent them off with the promise that we’d meet them there and that the sanctuary would allow us to live peacefully without fear. They believed us even though we didn’t believe ourselves.

“I’m sorry about your wife lad but I sure am happy she stayed behind” an older man clasped me on the shoulder solemnly without taking his eyes off the stage.

I smiled in response as the pianist made eye contact with me. Her deep red hair was flowing around her shoulders in waves as her piercing green eyes looked through my soul.

Her melody came to an end, and she clutched her heart shaped locket that sat atop her bosom. I knew what she was feeling. I knew the fear and the regret that flooded through her at that moment. For a second her eyes were pained and watery.

I kept eye contact and made sure my smile didn’t falter one bit. It was too late for fear and regret. There wasn’t a reason to flee as if we were in Pompeii, only to be devoured in the end. We needed to enjoy these last few moments in the only way that we could.

I seen the moment she got her resolve back. She took a deep breath, let the locket fall back to her chest, and smiled before starting on a new melody.

A melody that reminded me of the happy times with her. The day we were married, the day our daughter was born, the times when it seemed as if the world stood still because she was in it.

Yet, as it progressed it spoke of loss and torment, of pain and fear. It reminded me of the first battle that took place in our town right before the government collapsed. We had won that one, sending the Elsies on their way bruised and injured.

That battle was won but our daughter was lost. Our daughter whose only rememberance would be a picture inside of a locket that now sat on my wifes breast. Our daughter who'd passed on with four others who were caught in the middle of the violence.

The melody was hauntingly beautiful yet tormenting, and as the rest of the once silent room began shuffling and sniffling, I knew they felt it too.

The commotion outside became louder and I watched as tears poured from her eyes. The men around me hugged their friends and their sons with smiles on their faces and I could tell that it was genuine love being spread for the last time.

Standing up I walked on to the stage and sat on the bench next to her. I knew it would be the last time that we touched. The last time that I would be able to look into her emerald eyes.

It was well into the night where the stars were starting to fade, and the sky was going from the dark midnight to the hopeful blue. The silence of the bar patrons now mixed with the cries of war outside had her moving swifter more soulful. Her melody spoke of heartache and the soul blinding pain that the war had caused us. The crescendo was uninterrupted by the splintering of the wood door as the Elsies marched in, guns drawn. None of us made a move. Not one of us stopped watching as her beautiful melody played on. Like the orchestra in the Titanic, we were going down with the ship. Their soldiers screamed for us to surrender and that if we did, they would spare our lives.

We knew that death would be better than the captivity that awaited us. At this moment, for the last time, we were in control of our lives. For one last time we would be free, and it only made sense to end it there.

Instead of being forced into camps and bondage we decided this would be our last stop. We knew that it would all end the same either way, only this way, our end would be accompanied by a sweet melody that would mimic a mother’s lullaby to her child before sleep.

She played with one hand and grasped mine with her other as the first rounds of gunfire started. There were no pleas of mercy or surrender because the world as we knew it was over. We had no more ammunition and no more supplies to survive even if we wanted to.

More men filled the bar and even as their shots rang out and the pianist and I fell over into the keyboard it was silent aside from the gun fire because everyone who remained in town had accepted what was happening. We all fell with her melody still ringing in our ears, for one last time.