I was home by myself, bored out of my mind: nothing on the radio was worth listening to, we had no TV, the Web would be no use to me. Absentmindedly, I felt my way to the piano and began to play something that flowed from my soul. I felt my heart swell with happiness.
I finished just as a bang erupted from the door. I froze, but kept playing; someone just broke the door down. “Who’s in there?” a voice shouted. I kept quiet; I stopped playing. The voice’s owner stormed into the room.
“Were you the one playing?” he demanded, his voice inches from me. Unsure, I slowly nodded.
In a flash, he pinned me to the ground and shackled my wrists. “You know that music is illegal? Look at me when I talk to you!” “I can’t see, sir,” I squeaked. “What, you blind or something?” “Yes sir.” “Oho! A double-whammy: a disabled musician!” His voice shone with glee as half-dragged me outside. My heart rose to my throat and sank to the pit of my stomach as he tossed me into a truck.
But my troubles were just starting.