Even if the auditorium was empty, he poured his heart and soul into the song. Even if no one was ever going to hear him play again, it was his everything, because that was all he had left.
His friends were fighting amongst themselves, his parents were dead, his girlfriend had left him for some guy overseas. And every time he went to sleep, the girl with the white hair told him a story.
"It was such a long time ago," she would say in her strange high voice. "You wouldn't remember. I wouldn't remember. As far as we're concerned, it never happened. In that place you poisoned yourself. Your parents were separated by death. Clayton shot himself when he was thirty, and you never even met Thomas because he died of a heart attack when he was only sixteen." She would smile a little. Flip her hair off of her shoulder.
"Aren't you glad we're not there now?"
He started to feel cold, and stopped playing, glancing around the room to really make sure no one was there. He closed his eyes.
She knelt next to him and whipsered, "Aren't you scared?"
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