Annabelle Wong Hin Sang (9) | STAFF REPORTER
I tug on the brass handle. Chips of paint flake as the door reluctantly creaks open, dusting worn floorboards. A soft square of light forms in the centre of the room as clouds part, revealing a blanket of pink and orange beneath. I step inside, gazing over the attic’s contents when I realise I left a lot more than I remember.
A cluster of cardboard boxes, held together by layers of tape, stack up against one another on either side of the window. I carefully flip the lid of one box, and a cloud of dust springs into the air. Peering inside, I find there lies a single photograph. I reach in, then hold the photo out by the window, tilting it towards the light.
Looking back at me is the face of a small child, their arms spread out the same way an eagle would. Their smile is bright, plastered across their face, and their hair is a messy cloud of colour. The sky is blue, the sun shines, and vast, glistening waters are spread out behind them.
I try to match the feeling of joy, warmth, nostalgia but I feel nothing.
The silhouette of a piano sits in the corner, draped in fabric. Floorboards groan beneath my weight as I make my way over, passing over boxes, rolled up carpets, and frames, both with and without paintings. The lid remains open, and I wonder how long it has been since I last heard the keys of this piano.
I gently press the middle note. The piano, in response, lets out a muffled sound, almost as if it were coming from another room. I sit down on the bench and play a couple more notes until all my fingers find themselves weighing in on the yellowed piano keys, slowly shifting up and down through octaves. Soon enough, a tune sombrely drawls out. Chords connect together, transitioning from one to another in the same way the sun meets the horizon. The notes glisten, clearing one by one as the fog of sound dissipates, melting like a block of ice beneath the warm sun.
I strike the wrong chord.
My fingers scramble to tie the notes back together, but it is unsalvageable. The chord drawls on in the back of my head.
I sigh. It all comes to a halt, everything is empty again. I set the lid down one last time, it shuts with a soft thud, the same way it always has.
I get up and move to sift through more boxes, but suddenly, the room is devoid of anything I care to look at anymore.
A hollow feeling spreads in my chest, as before I leave, I witness a new layer of dust settle.
