This is how to Kill a Piano. I am George Tate. Thanks so
much for listening, Thanks for being here, Thanks for telling your friends,
Thanks for keeping this story alive, because without you, there's really no motivation
to keep going. I mean, with the story, I'd obeyed with life.
Life is great. I don't want to chatter on too long because you're
probably eager to get to the next part of the story. So without further
ado, here's chapter twenty one of How to Kill a Piano. Chapter twenty
one Essence of Absinthe. To some our ordinary looks like pure magic. It's
important to remember that the world is filled with ordinary things. The world is
filled with pure magic. It's all a matter of perspective. Absence's favorite way
to bring a month to a close was to have a long soak in his
bath with a good book. But if any one were to find out about
it, particularly his uncle Scurteous, he'd never hear the end of it.
It wasn't the bath that was the issue. That process was necessary and encouraged.
It was reading. Reading was forbidden amongst his kind. This was the
one time, at the end of the month that Absence felt that he could
truly sink in and enjoy himself. But this particular morning he found himself with
more time than usual with his monthly soak, as Uncle Screws was busy preparing
for the sands. The burgundy cloth foot bathtubs sat in the center of the
cavernous room, whose floor was not unlike a black and white chessboard. The
cherquoise molded classical walls were covered in a mixture of moss and oil paintings that
depicted rubber ducks in various states of undress. Of course, the ducks themselves
donned devil horns perched on their heads. Some smoked cigars, others navigated gondolas,
sculling it through painted waters with the devil's pitchfork, and some simply enjoyed
a good silk. Amongst the painted bath bubbles, this was absence a happy
place. He sat patiently barefoot on a small rectangular wooden stool beside the tub
as the scolding water rose to just the right height where he could pour in
his favorite bubble bath solution, Blackmoors bath Bubbles. Particular soapy solution was made
from a mixture of foaming surfactants, coconut oil, fennel star annis and the
ground flowers of a small wormwood shrub. Its concoction made the water glow a
chartreuse green and provided a long lasting bubble that danced upon the water's surface that
was unmatched. Breaking the water's surface tension with his left big toe, Absent
listened joyfully as it sizzled around his skin. Smiling, he knew everything was
ready just as he liked it. He stripped off his charcoal suit one piece
at a time. He hung the jacket over the stool first, before unbuttoning
his four button vest. He loosened the tie that held a firm grip around
his throat and slipped the circled hangman's knot over his head without untying it completely.
He folded each piece of his wardrobe carefully before draping it over top of
the stool. His slacks were last. He slid them off and climbed in
as the solution began to work its magic, producing bubble after bubble, the
morning dusk air mixed with the chartruse green glow of the tub. He leaned
back, submerging himself into the water all the way up to his neck.
He closed his eyes and let out a sigh of relaxation as the scolding water
filled in the crevices of his skin. The water would have boiled nearly any
other creature alive, though to Absinthe it felt like a warm hug, something
he rarely got anywhere else. It was the one time he could truly relax
and focus. Unfortunately, he's already read every book he secretly owned many times
over. The pages were beginning to doll with how frequently he visited them.
He let out an audible sigh, picked up his necktie from the stool beside
him, and plunged it into the steaming water, before bringing it out again
and draping it over the eyes, as if on cue. One of the
intervals wabbled into absence bathing room without announcing itself. It carefully hopped diagonally over
each black tile as it carefully traversed the room's checkerboard. It gently cradled a
small, white, hardcover book in its arms as it found its way to
absence bathside, gently tapping the corner of the spine on the side of the
tub. Absence relaxed attention was finally stirred, lifting the tie from one of
his eyes and peering over the side of the tub, Absinthe found the interval
grinning up at him with its cleft eyes glowing in the bathlight. It lifted
its tiny arms into the air, showing off the book like a dog that
had just retrieved a ball in a game of fetch. While the book was
small, it was nearly the same size as its head, Huxley, Absinthe
cackled. While most of the intervals didn't have names, Absinthe decided to call
this one and only this one, Huxley, You're right on time? Is
that it? Did? You actually find it? Absinthe carefully dried his hands
and arms on his suit beside the tub, before taking the book in hand.
Huxley nodded proudly before scurrying off the way it came, carefully, jumping
across each black tile, still avoiding the white. Huxley, you know those
white tiles won't cause you any harm, Absinthe called out after the interval as
it vanished back into the outskirts of the room. It wasn't that Huxley thought
the white tiles were dangerous, or that they had any kind of superstitious belief
that touching them would be a bad omen, but rather, the Intervals always
found fun in as many things as they could. They watched most other beings
getting caught up in the darkness around them, and the Intervals decided that they
would simply embrace it. They'd make as many things into a game as they
could. It brought them joy. Absentthe settled back into his bath and ran
his fingers over the embossed lettering on the cover. Invisible Persuasions, Perceptions,
Invisible Perceptions uh by Charlie Sopheric and Sarah Swathy. Absentthe read out loud as
his fingers traced the curved letters of each imposed imprint. Huxley, my friend.
I have no idea how you found it again, but I have a
feeling this book is going to change my life. His toes splashed about the
surface of the water as he consumed each page. He learned of the secret
chords that could invoke the piano's magic. He learned about Charlie and Sarah.
He didn't quite make sense of every page, but it was the last few
chapters in particular that left him with the most questions, particularly why Scrutinous and
Charlie seemed to be written as friends within this book. What sort of nonsense
fiction? Is this, Absent questioned, I've never read a more broken book.
Maybe Uncle Scurtius was right, Maybe these books were They are getting in
the way of my intelligence. Absinthe was about to drown the book in the
path when he noticed something peculiar along the spine. The bottomed stem of the
n at the end of the word perception was slightly raised, almost as if
something was sticking out of it. Absinthe began scratching at it with his thumb
nail. It revealed a small pole tap, and he started to tug.
He began to rip through the cover of the spine, revealing lettering along the
chord that continued to destroy the book's cover. As it pulled through and around
the backside of the book, the small print read, do not fear me,
follow my lead, for I am indestructible. Continuing to pull, he
found it guiding around from the backside to the inside back cover, where it
began to hollow out the entire inside. Indestructible, absentthe questioned. Nearing the
end, it completely ripped the backing paper from its baseboard to reveal a folded
sheet of paper that nearly fell into the tub as it was freed from obfuscation.
I've never seen a book do this before, Absinthe pondered. Abbey Scrutinous
scolded as he burst into the bathing room, talking dramatically, waving the stump
at the end of his arms about as if his hand were still attached.
What did I tell you about the stupid books of yours? Scruteous looked down
at the leftover rubbish floating on the surface of the now mostly bubble free bathwater.
Never mind, I'll take it back, Scutius corrected, as he scooped
up a water logged scrap from the water surface. At least you're doing something
constructive for once with them instead of reading them, though, Might I suggest
they make a better fire starter. Drowning a book is a lot like trying
to suffocate a piano. It might dissolve for a while, but turn your
back for even a moment, and it's right back to chapter one. Absentth
quickly dipped the folded page over the side of the tub, keeping it hidden
from Scruteous as he continued scooping the remains of the book into his hands,
where each piece instantly caught fire. Scruteous dropped the last few pieces to the
floor, where they continue to burn to ash. When you're done waiting in
your water filled wonderland of wistful woes, I need you to finish the preparation
for this evening's performance. The intervals will be back with a fresh set of
keys. And you know how I love to hear you play well, we
theatrically raise the dead, boss, Absinthe interrupted, What is it now,
dear nephew, did you know Charlie? I mean, did you know Charlie
before? What are you on about? You know, I've been chasing Charles
longer than you've been alive. I've known him more intimately than nearly anyone else.
Right, but were you close? Were you? Absinthe hesitated to say
the word, Well, out with it. Scrutious scolded for friends, Absinthe
finished, I can't help, but it is you haven't yet prepared the rope
for the finale. What the hell did you do with my hand? Does
this not seem like an important detail that should have been addressed before the sun
started to show its head for the day. Scruteous deflected, Absinthe had been
so distracted by the book he hardly noticed that Scrutinous was still missing his writing
hand, as he had yet to return it. He had intended to when
he was through writing my invitation to the evening Seance, but found himself distracted
with thoughts about the book. There's plenty of time for that, uncle,
Absinthe retorted, sullenly, peering into his reflection that was now visible on the
chartou surface of the water as most of the bubbles had met their end,
his naked body clearly visible beneath the face of his reflection, reminding him of
what he was born to be. Scrutius suddenly grabbed Absinthe by the hair with
his working hand. Absinthe panicked, his breath echoed in his ears as he
desperately fought against Scrutius's grip. As his head was forced down beneath the water,
absence wide eyes pleaded for mercy, his lungs burning for oxygen they so
desperately craved. The scrap of folded paper slipped from his finger tips and floated
to the floor beneath the cloth foot tub. As Absinthe found himself fully submerged
beneath the water's surface as seconds stretched into an eternity. His body instinctively convulsed.
His hands hopelessly grasped for the sides of the tub, desperate to pull
himself up. His feet picked at the surface, thrashing and flailing, but
his movements only grew weaker as his energy depleted. The intervals began to appear
from within the outskirts of the room, encircling the tub, standing only on
the white squares, not one daring to intervene, but not one wanting Absinthe
to feel alone in this moment. If you insist on prolonging these baths and
neglecting your other responsibilities, will simply need to reset things a bit. Scrutius
sternly announced Absence barely made out Scrutinous's words as bubbles erupted from his mouth as
he struggled to reach the surface to breathe. The water, once a source
of joy, now became a prison, a hug wrapping around him like a
suffocating shroud. Scrutious locked eyes with Absinthe as he watched the darkness encroach upon
him. As he watched absence eylids slowly begin to close every nerve and absence
body screamed for air, his chest ached in agony with the unforgiving embrace of
water, until suddenly the surface went still and Scrutinous released his grip. Scrutinous
sat down on the small wooden stool beside the tub and admired his work in
silence as he rolled his neck back, giving it a crack. Straightening his
neck out again, he noticed his audience of Intervals. It's just another day
like any other. Don't act like this is any different than the last time.
Scrutinous scoffed as he plunged his hand back into the tub and pulled the
plug. The Intervals calmly and silently slipped back into the darkness, and the
two of them were alone once again. The liquid began to swirl down the
drain as it emptied from the tub. It traveled deep beneath the floorboards,
where the Intervals eagerly weighted with empty glass bottles that they filled one after another
after another. The Intervals carefully corked each bottle as it was filled, diligently
labeling each one with the cracked time, month, and year, and then
lined them carefully on the shelves deep within Scruteous's cellar, preserving yet another month
of absinthe. They've been doing this ritual for hundreds of years. Absence body
laid still and damp at the bottom of the empty bath. Abbey, Scurteous,
cood, Abbey, it's time to get out of that bath, my
dear Abbey. Scurteous instructed, with a tone of voice that was almost kind.
You'll freeze yourself to death laying there like that. Absence lifeless body began
to choke, coughing up a remnants of bath water all over himself. I'm
I'm sorry, uncle, Absent wheezed as his body began to slowly reanimate.
Did you fall asleep in the bath again, Abbey? I told you not
to lose track of time here. It's dangerous and irresponsible. Now I believe
you still have something that belongs to me, Scurtius said, gently, holding
up the stub end of his arm. Yeah, I do, Sorry,
Uncle, Let me get myself back together and go fetch it straight away,
Absence said, exasperated. Now there's my good little demon. I'll be sure
to tell Cordeva how well you've been doing. Well, maybe even get you
a new tie, would you like that, Abbey? Of course, Uncle
Scurtius made eye contact with the asked remains of the burnt book for the first
time. Satisfied that it was gone, he made his exit. I'm pleased,
you're pleased, Scrutius chuckled. Everything's great. Meet me in the rehearsal
room with my hand and put your damned suit back on. The colors fading,
Scurtius's tone turned anger, but his body relaxed as he calmly stepped out
of the room, carefully stepping only on black tiles, leaving Absinthe to air
dry. You have twenty minutes. Don't daddle. Absence pulled himself out of
the tub and carefully dressed himself, sliding each leg into the trousers, buttoning
the button around his waist, Pulling the shirt back around his body his lanky
fingers, buttoning each button all the way up to his neck. He slid
the vest back on, buttoning the first three buttons of the four buttoned vest,
before topping everything off with the charcoal suit. He scooped up his tie
from the bottom of the tub and carefully placed it into the outside jacket pocket
of the sports coat. He carefully crouched down to his knees to peer beneath
the tub to retrieve the paper, desperately hoping that it hadn't gotten two water
logged in the accident, He was surprised to find a most of the page
intact and every word still readable. Life's most precious moments often arrived I've unannounced.
Stay present and cherish the magic that's found in each unexpected encounter. You
may grow old, but not all of us grow wise. For some,
that might take several lifetimes. It did for me. The unexpected is not
an obstacle to overcome. It is an invitation to explore new dimensions of yourself
in the world around you. In the realm of eternal beings, where time
and mortality held no sway, there existed an entity known as ARCHAELI, a
god like being whose existence stretched across countless ages. Archael possessed the unique ability
to regenerate, shredding its physical form and emerging anew in a fresh vessel.
This cyclical rebirth granted the gift of immortality, as the entity seamlessly transitioned from
one life to the next. For Ion's, Archielees perpetuated its divine lineage by
nurturing perfect replicas of itself, which it would raise to eventually assume its role.
Each iteration brought forth an identical being carrying the essence and memories of its
predecessor. These replicas, born and raised under Archilles' watchful eye, were meticulously
groomed to inherit the godlike powers and responsibilities. Yet, as time went on,
a newfound sense of introspection began to stir within Archilles. The immortal being
peered into the depths of its eternal existence, questioning the purpose of its unending
cycle. It pondered the nature of its clones, their inherent right to forge
their own destinies, separate from the predetermined path it had imposed upon them.
One particular replica named Ogre, had grown under Archielles full tutelage. As Ougrey
blossomed into a remarkable being, Archaeley observed the spark of individuality. It was
then that Archaeley recognized the injustice it had inadvertently imposed upon its replicas. The
godlike entity had unknowingly deprived them of the autonomy to explore their own desires,
dreams, and aspirations. A deep sorrow took hold of Archiella's heart as it
confronted the truth it realized that the time had come to relinquish its immortality,
to allow Ogrey to live his own life, free from the shadows of his
progenitor. Archiele yearned to grant its replica the gift of self discovery, of
forging its own paths unburdened by the weight of predestined purpose. It tried to
urge the rest of its kind to follow his lead, but only one would
stand with him, knowing they'd to watch him slowly forget themselves in the process.
As they slipped away with great solemnity, Archieley called upon Ogri and revealed
the truth, unveiling the secret of their shared origin. Ogri listened intently.
A maelstrom of emotions stirred within him. Confusion, gratitude, and a sense
of duty intertwined as he grappled with the weight of this revelation. In the
presence of Archielles' wisdom, Ogri understood that his existence was not merely an extension
of his predecessor. He recognized the inherent right to forge his own legacy independent
of the path laid before him. Archielee, with his divine wisdom, had
come to terms with its own mortality and the necessity of passing the mantle to
Ogri. In a grand gesture of love and sacrifice, Archieley relinquished its immortality
willingly, allowing itself to fade into the melodies of history. The eternal entity
embraced the finality of its existence, finding solace in knowing that Ogre would now
shape its own destiny, unrestrained by the shackles of an inherited legacy. As
the divine essence of Archailees dissipated into the ether, Ogri stood alone, a
mixture of sadness and gratitude coursing through its being. He knew the weight of
the responsibility that now rested upon his shoulders, but also embraced the boundless freedom
to carve his own narrative. And so, with Archilles passing, the cycle
was broken, and Ogre, empowered by the lessons of his predecessor, embarked
on a new journey, destined to become a tale of his own making.
The legacy of Archieles served as a reminder for all of their kind that even
God must confront their mortality and grant others the chance to thrive, weaving their
own stories within the tapestry of eternity. Rather than fear the unknown, dance
with it, allow it to be your partner in this intricate choreography of life.
Be open to the whispers of fate, for they may lead you to
the very destinations to stop this cycle and allow us all to grow. We
can become our own, We can finally live. Absinthe kicked his bare foot
through the asked remnants of the book. Indestructible, my ass, absinthe muttered
as he felt his toe unexpectedly hit the sharp corner of a book that had
begun to reconstitute itself beneath its own burnt remains. Absinthe carefully refolded the page
that was now dry as bone, gently bent down and scooped the book out
of the ashes that covered the floor. He safely tucked the folded page into
the back of the book and tucked the book into his inside jacket pocket.
I don't think this book was meant for me, absentthe concluded. But I'll
be damned if Uncle Scurteous gets his hands on it again. In the dimly
lit depths of the ancient cellar, where shadows danced and whispers echoed, Scurteous
embarked on a ritualistic quest for a libation. Befitting his other worldly palette.
Clear the room, Scurtius insisted, as the intervals scattered. The shelves were
adorned with a vast array of tantalizing elixirs, each one steeped in potent mystique
and forbidden allure. Scurtius glided amongst the rows of bottles, its ethereal presence
barely disturbing the silence. With meticulous care, Scurtius reached out a hand adorned
with his obsidian claws, its sharp finger tips, grazing the assortment of labels.
Scurtius's piercing gaze swept over the collection, searching for the embodiment of exquisite
temptation. What a year will it be? This time? His attention was
captivated by a solitary bottle, shrouded in an aura of enchantment. The Battle
of Absinthe stood like a sentinel. Its emerald hue refracted the flickering candlelight,
beckoning Scurtious with a seductive lure. It was as if the very essence of
darkness had been captured within the confines of this glass vessel. With reverence,
Scurtious lifted the bottle from its resting place, feeling the weight of centuries of
decadence in its grasp. The cork, encrusted with ancient symbols, yielded under
the gentle persuasion of the demon's touch. Released a whispering sigh. A waft
of intoxicating fragrance. An amalgamation of annis, wormwood, and mystery filled the
air, swirling around Scurteous like attempting waltz. A crystal glass, delicate yet
resilient, awaited the elixirs arrived. Evil Scrutious poured the emerald elixir, its
mesmerizing fluidity, cascading with graceful precision, teasing the confines of the vessel as
it settled into its new found home. Scurtius's claws clinked softly against the glass,
resonating with anticipation as he raised the elixir towards his lips. With measured
SIPs, Scruteous indulged in the forbidden nectar, relishing the dance of flavors upon
its infernal tongue. The velvety essence coated his palate each sip, revealing hidden
depths and mysteries long kept As the elixir glided down his throat, a surge
of wicked pleasure coursed through Scrutius's ethereal form, an intoxication that transcended realms.
Time seemed to stand still as Scurtious savored the complexities of the absinthe, A
symphony of sensations merging with the darkness within his eyes glimmered with an unholy ecstasy,
a reflection of the pleasure bestowed upon him by the elixir of decadence.
In that clandestine cellar, amid the hushed whispers of spirits long past, Scurteous
found soulas in the exquisite indulgence of his absinthe. Scurteous, with every sip,
embraced the forbidden, and reveled in the intoxicating dance of flavors, each
note mixed with the next, knowing that this moment of sinful pleasure was a
respite from the eternal abyss that bound him. Once the glass was empty,
Scurteous cork the bottle and placed it back on the shelf. He wiped the
recipue out of the glass with his pocket square, leaving no trace behind.
With the exception of the bottle's depletion. Ah, thank you Abby scurteous ground
where delicious as ever. That concludes another episode of How to Killipiano. I'm
George Tate, thanks so much for listening. As always, the story is
original and written by yours truly. The music for this was of course also
original and played and composed specifically to score this episode. Until next time,
I am George Tate. Please enjoy yourself, and if you can't enjoy yourself,
enjoy someone else with their consent, although it might be best to find
pleasure in your own company first. For updates, please feel free to visit
us at how to Kill Apiano dot com. You can also contact us directly
through that website and let us know your thoughts. I'm always eager to hear
from you. Cheers for now,