He’d known its sound for years, been comforted through nightmares and lulled to sleep by its noise, but never once had he dared use it himself.
It was taller than him, but father cradled it easily in his massive hands, and it didn’t look that heavy. He looked around the room, but the three were crying and mother and father were trying to make them stop.
No one was there.
No one would know.
He reached out and pressed his little hand tentatively against the smooth wood of its body, walked his tiny fingers up its neck.
Then, with his child-heart pounding in his chest, he did the deed, reached out and plucked one of the shiny steel strings.
The sound of A-440 would live with him forever.
(130 words)
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