A Dream of Flying

     It was a bitter autumn afternoon, the leaves changing from the usual boring green to many shades of yellow, orange and brown. The winds breezed through the streets of Sacramento, sending anyone standing in its way into a fit of shivering. Not that this was a problem for Richard, as he was inside, observing everything going on out there.

     For a moment, he initially forgot why he went out to this room in the first place. The scenery outside was, despite the bitter cold reality that waited for him if he dared step foot outside...was quite warming. The colors, the sight of people all bundled up with their warm drinks...He was almost tempted to join the people outside, possibly strike up a conversation or two. But he worried that THEY’D show up. Those voices always loved to show up at the least convenient of times, often to ridicule and mock Richard. And the worst part was, only HE could hear them. Crazy, was all anyone called him these days. He used to be something more than his panic towards the voices...famous, even, but alas that golden era had passed, and here he was again, the crazy bastard on 53rd street.

     He shook his head. That was what the people of Sacramento saw him as, but he knew for a fact that crazy really wasn’t true to him. He was crazy, he knew this, but he was more than that. The Band saw him as more than that, and through it he got to truly show the world that there was more to him than his hallucinations and occasional paranoid delusion. 

     He turned to the instrument in the center of the room. While he did enjoy the days of rock and roll on the loud guitar, the instrument of his heart was never a guitar: It was of something quieter, but just as powerful in the hands of the right person:

     A Piano.

     He sat down at the bench and pulled himself closer. The time for distractions was done, he was here for a reason: They weren’t here to bother him, at least not now. He was going to take this opportunity, before it slipped from his grasp, and play a song or two on it.

     How long had it been, since he actually heard the piano sing? A few days? Months? Years, even? That mattered little to the former Batless band member, as he took a few breaths and placed his hand on the keys. And with that, he let his heart play the tune, his fingers following suit.

     It was a tune from his childhood: One he heard his father play hundreds of times over, a song he grew to associate with safety and comfort, even long after his mind started to go with the arrival of these...things. He knew the recreation of the melody wasn’t ever perfect: He used to be frustrated over the fact that no matter how many times he played it, it never quite sounded right. It never sounded like the one his father would play. But as time passed...he grew to appreciate the new identity this melody had in his hands. It was one of his own making, one he could take pride in.

     A melody his father always told him was called “Dream of Flying”

     At some point, he heard a rustle, coming from within the room he was in. Initially panicked, he stopped and looked around, hoping there was a source. And as luck would have it, he did find it: A short skeleton in a marching band outfit, who appeared to be hiding rather clumsily behind the plant. He couldn’t help but smirk at it’s attempt of eavesdropping on him, playing the piano.

     “You know, Grim, despite being able to appear behind whatever door you please,” He began, “You really aren’t good at this whole ‘hiding’ thing, aren’t you?” The skeleton known only as Grim initially squeaked, locking eyes with Richard. Grim probably wasn’t expecting Richard to have heard him, given the reaction.

     “W-Well, you see, Richard….you keep this room so much under wraps, I was curious what you even did in here,” Grim stammered, coming out of his hiding place.

     “Guess you know now, I suppose,” Richard replied. Grim looked off to the side for a second, before saying anything more.

     “Y...Y’know, Richard, you’re actually really good on that thing,” Grim said, “Have you considered doing it professionally? I-i mean, I know you already had that rock band phase, but I-”

     “I appreciate the gesture, Grim, but…” Richard said, his thoughts wandering again. He did dream of being a pianist, that was something he wanted all his life, just like his father was. He shuddered a little, the memory of his first break from reality all too fresh in his mind.

     “What made you stop?” Grim asked. Richard sighed. He knew this was going to be asked at some point.

     “Well, because...because they made me stop,” Richard replied, not looking Grim in the eyes.

     “They?” Grim asked, “I hate to be intrusive, but who are they? Your parents? Some bullies at school?”

     “No, I’m afraid not...” Richard began. Now he was struggling to hold back that memory...All the voices, all those...things in his vision, his attempts to get out to no avail...until all he could do was lie in the corner and cry, even long after he was left alone by the things only his eyes could see, only his ears could hear.

     “They are the voices in my head…” Richard tried to explain, as crazy as it possibly sounded, “I tried as long as I could to stay true to my dreams, but...they wouldn’t shut up. Eventually, the piano couldn’t even quiet them, so when I heard a friend of mine I knew from high school was forming a rock band, I figured...that if the loud instruments from the band itself wouldn’t do it, the crowd would. One of those two, both even, could finally shut those bastards up.” He ended up smirking again, but rather than it being a smirk of happiness...it seemed more like a smirk of defeat.

      “But now that the band’s pretty much dead in the water...I really am back at square one, aren’t I?”