Black.  White.  Ivory.  Soul.  Keys to the world, waiting to strike a chord. Music is symphony to the
beauty of a human heart, but darkness is the tune carried into chaos. We’re rocking to the end, and
we’re zombified. And she keeps playing till nothing’s left.

The steam was gentle like a feather to the air. A cool breeze escaped through large, open windows.  
Wisps of wonder fell under burden, bare feet, and tears raced across skin. The unknown disappeared
underneath her palm, wiped away for only the future to know, and the present was the reflection now
penetrating the past. And her eyes were as white as the heavens, touched ever so gently with black. A
white robe slipped over perfection. Every flaw was erased. Beauty echoed in the heart and emanated
from within to out. Innocence were the steps left behind, and the guilty weighed heavily on the piano
now open. And she began to play, and as she played, the rockets flew in the air, taking the lives below.

Leaning forward, she gave her soul, black and white. The keys screamed and cried, and she swayed
like a dancer taken by music. Her eyes were shut.  Her hands thrived. The windows were open, and
all her ears heard was symphony. She never heard the destruction, the tragedy outside.

The beat carried on. She played till only darkness was left. Her glass windows were now shattered
with blinds shredded in red. Debris carried across the smooth, wooden floor and covered her bare feet
with razor sharp thorns, but her hands would not bleed, holding to the keys of this world. And when
all her pain finally melted away, slipping into the unknown, she played a different melody, and hope
sailed across the pale sky.

The rockets would not fly again. The ground would not break, take back those born from within. The
heavens would cry no more, bitter with acid, tearing at skin. Fires would not rage in abandoned, metal
carriages. They would not lie. They would not cheat. They would not steal. They were hers, dancing to
her beat, zombified, and she played on. She played with perfection, perfection of the human heart, and
perfection of all its darkest flaws, holding the keys to this world.
Literary Masters, Inc.
Publicists for Short Stories, Books, Poems and Songs
   Long Island, New York 11971
"Keys to the World"
By Melissa R. Mendelson
Thursday, March 07, 2013
Rated "G" by the Author.
Perfection of the human heart sooths all.

Yet quite another departure, Melissa. And a very delightful one. There is something hauntingly
autobiographical in each of your writings and this is no exception. A warm and defining piece that reads well
as a short story or a poem as your writings are always so rhythmic. Quite nice.****__Jean Ann Morgan

This short story made me go back and read several others by Melissa. I am new to Literary Masters, Inc.
and, therefore, new to her works. I agree that they are all worthy and compelling reads. I also agree that
"Keys to the World" is a bright departure from her other works and a rewarding direction for new fans of
Melissa to explore****__David W. Carpenter
OTHER WORKS:  To enjoy other works by Melissa R. Mendelson,   CLICK HERE.
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