They moved in with their equipment and dismantled the piano with perfect dexterity. Each piece was wrapped in crisp brown paper and duct taped. They were exporting the music to another land. To another hand.
Eventually, the pieces of the piano landed in a museum of sorts and all the pieces were assembled with great care. A small placard announced that it had belonged to the greatest composer of all times Friedrich Hampton. A spotlight shone upon its ornamental carvings announcing its material value. Elite folk wandered in and out of the room. Some of them took pictures of the flawless piano and its grandeur after obtaining permission from the museum curator.
A glass case was constructed around the piano. A persian rug was spread beneath its legs. The whole room was exterminated to prevent termites from creeping into the piano’s wood. Janitors were placed at the entrance to guard the piano all through the day. A close-circuit camera watched the piano at all hours to ensure its safety. The glass case was dusted three times a day. Once a week the glass case was carefully opened and the piano was wiped thoroughly to retain its sheen.
Nobody spoke loud when they entered this room out of solemn respect for the great piano. They gasped and gently murmured to each other about the composer who had died recently and left the piano to be preserved by the museum in his hometown.
The piano stood there for several decades. Students did school projects on the piano. Musicians and scholars walked around it to weigh the kind of music it could produce. Artists and writers were disturbed by the mere story that surrounded the piano’s past. The nouveau riche approached the museum to enquire about its price.
Early one morning, a slight seismic disturbance was observed in the area. Subsequently, an earthquake rocked the whole place and brought down all the buildings. The glass case shattered into a hundred pieces and large chunks of debris fell upon the piano.
Rescue workers toiled day and night to trace corpses and save people who were stuck under huge piles of rubble. Bulldozers were brought in order to help clear out the land. The museum area was inaccessible to people. The government tried to salvage bits and pieces of all that remained of the museum’s exhibits of the glorious past. The piano had been completely wrecked. It was a great loss. It had invited a great deal of tourism into the town.
The last moments of the piano:
The townsfolk had made a zombie out of its soul and a whore out of its body. Everybody thought that the piano stopped existing when it was physically shattered but they had killed it decades ago. It had generously allowed the earth to consume its frame and the rubble to devastate its components. Nobody could have had a happier burial.
This is how I was killed .