The Irish Pianist

She perches, balancing herself on the side rail towards the back of the auditorium, and smirks as Jack storms off.  "Oh, word circles," she says to herself, shaking her head.  "Circular phrases and loopholes make the world go 'round.  Sometimes the most beautiful turn of phrase can twist itself back around you, pinioning you or even strangling you."  Many audience members had turned to gaze at her.  Even Jack had poked his head back out to to listen to her.

"And who might you be?" someone asks.

She smiles impishly.  "Well, depends who you ask, really."  She hops from the rail, placing the point of her right foot behind her flat left, cocking her arms to balance herself.  As she meanders down the aisle towards the stage, she continues.  "Sometimes people call me an imp; other times people call me a word twister.  Some folks call me 'the pianist,' other peoples call me 'that person.'  I respond to most of those, really."

By this time she's reached the orchestra pit, and the audience can more easily see her.  Her frizzy red hair's wrangled into a french braid, her curly bangs all over the place.  Her attire consists of, oddly enough, a button-down pyjama shirt with rolled three-quarter sleeves, darkwash jeans, and grey sneakers.

"But what's your name?" another voice calls.

"Some people call me Gwen Guienalei, but most just call me gee-squared."  g2's mounted the stage at this point, folding her hands behind her back.  She surveys the audience, then looks to the stage wing.  "Say, s'there a piano back there?" she calls.

One is wheeled out (with some difficulty), and Gwen takes her place before it.  "With all this talk of existence and being and what-not, I figured it'd be nice t'give you all something we're pretty sure exists."  She places her hands on the keys, but draws them away for a moment.  "But, if y'think about it, if we think we exist, and we're aware of existing, then we exist."

"But what if we aren't aware of it?" Jack calls from the wings.

Gwen smirks again.  "Then you've got a bit of a problem, then; wouldn't you say?"  With that, she begins to play a gypsy dance.

The End

23 comments about this story Feed