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Soldiers Piano Research Paper

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Soldier’s Piano

The dried, burned grass crunched under the weight of my combat boots. Every so often a bright green blade of grass would lick onto my shoe. No one has visited this place since the war. The land has been isolated for so long, since our shouts and blood filled the battlefield.
Flashes filled my mind as the memories of the war welled up in my head, creating a spinning pool of grief and survivor's guilt. I could not forget the faces of my companions crying out for help, hoping to be saved by someone, anyone.
The family we created within our platoon was being torn apart by our enemies. I fought hard, and relentlessly trying to keep the enemy back but still hoping to help save James, who was closest to me during our training and …show more content…

That wonderful Christmas we had as a proper family. At the time, I had been playing my beaten up wood piano which was taken from my grandmother's cottage after she passed. She had always sat me up on her lap before she had played one of her various songs she had written herself. That was where I acquired my love for composing. And that Christmas my mother and father had scraped up enough money to spend on a brand new, shiny, brown grand piano that sat in the living room. I spent most of the hours in each day at that piano. I had written three compositions in the first four weeks I spent sitting on the stool, crunched over the beautiful music …show more content…

As I was staring at my childhood memory, I realized my feet had begun to slowly move me forward towards the piano.
My slow, turtle-like trudges soon became a sprint and I was desperate to catch my childhood memory before it faded away. I approached the piano and halted my run abruptly. All I could do was stare at the beautiful, worn down wood that had once been polished to perfection. My fingers began to tingle and I raised one hand, shaking tremendously. I softly set it on the piano’s keys, almost scared to brush against it in fear it would disappear under my touch.
I lifted my other hand up to the piano and immediately, just as a reflex, and played one chord. The music was heavenly and I closed my eyes, raising my head to let the sun kiss my face. I lowered my head and thought of my fellow companions, the ones who had risked their lives for the wellbeing of America, just as I had so many years ago.
My arms still trembling, my fingers unsteadily began to play a few notes on the piano. Without a single gaze at what I was doing, my fingers began to fly across the keys of the grand piano. I kept thinking about all of the people who I had lost to the war, about James and what could have become of our duet. The pianist and the

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