The piano watched the singer from its favored spot in the shadows. It hated her, couldn’t stand her shrieky soprano voice. It watched as the woman berated her new accompanist for some imagined slight, arms waving akimbo and her myriad bracelets making the most obnoxious racket with her dramatic movement.

She needed to be gotten rid of. And it was hungry. It worked out nicely.

“You, lady, you’re crazy! You’re lucky anyone will work with you!” The young man pointed a direct finger at her and advanced. “After this, I’m done. And don’t you call me again!”

The young man stomped off, clearly as ‘done,’ with her as he claimed. The irate diva chased after him, her graying hair coming loose from its bun. “Where do you think you’re going, you ungrateful wretch? I’m not through with you — we still have to go over the coda!”

The pianist rounded on her and gave her the finger. “Not today we don’t,” he spat, and slammed the stage door in her face as he left.

The diva reeled back, shocked and angrily appalled. She started cursing in some eastern European language. Possibly Czech, but language had changed so much since the piano had been there last, and really, it didn’t care. It crept forward, using the stage curtains as cover.

The woman raged about the back stage, kicking set pieces and screaming obscenities at the air. The piano could almost taste her as it neared…

“Miss Poulan, I’d really appreciate you taking your fit elsewhere.” The manager stood with his arms crossed at one end of the backstage. The piano hadn’t heard him approach, and it hated being caught off guard. It shrank back into the shadows.

“This theatre stinks! No decent musical talent, no one with any work ethic! I cannot believe you aren’t bankrupt!” she hissed.

“I’m sorry you feel that way. Now, leave. Please.” The manager pointed steadily at the door, and his expression booked no argument.

The woman made a rude gesture and flounced out. The piano seethed. Foiled! The manager sighed, rubbed a hand through his dark hair. Where he had been stern and steely man a moment ago, he seemed to shrink into a worn out boy. The piano watched as he slowly turned, and headed back the way he came. Weak! It thought with a sneer.

The piano rumbled as the manager stepped out of earshot. It momentarily considered attacking the manager, but that would draw unwanted attention. And the weakling would taste bland, anyway, it reasoned. The rumble grew until it was an eerie, low growl. It needed to hurry and win the piano-girl to its cause.

Before it perished of hunger….