We found an old piano standing in the woods. Our squad leader thought it had to be a trap, but we checked it over, and there were no booby traps, tripwires, or mines.
There were probably snipers, and I knew I was about to catch hell for it, but I had to play something.
I played a simple chord. It reverberated, sweet and clear. Nothing happened.
I started in on a concerto, expecting to be pulled away from the piano or shot at any moment.
But I finished the song. For a few fleeting minutes, the war couldn’t touch us.

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