Jack settled himself at the piano, foot hovering above the brass pedals as he took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders. He didn’t need a sheet of music to know the melody that had haunted him all day, and warmed up with a few scales, fingers dancing across the ivory keys. The house was still and quiet when he paused and stretched his neck. A quick nod, and then he set off, notes pouring out as his body swayed in time with the music. 

Something flew over his head and connected with the wall, but he ignored it, lost in the rhythm of his song. Voices behind him grew louder as he pounded the keys to compensate for the disruption. A door slammed, and a dog howled. Determined to see the piece through, he blocked them out, immune to anything but the desperate need to let the score flow.

“Jack,” Cara screamed, standing next to him. “Stop that God awful racket!” 

He frowned, but refused to obey the demand. She didn’t have to like it. Art was subjective after all. 

A young neighbor stood at the open window. “Is someone dying in there?”

“No, Jack’s composing again.” She shook her head and slipped on an oversized pair of headphones before slamming the window shut and walking away.

Jack closed his eyes and played the last of the notes before sighing with contentment.

“Honestly,” Cara said, tossing a small box down in front of him. “Put your hearing aids in!” 

Word: pedal | Action: hover