The Silenced Pianist

               He ran.  He ran until he felt his lungs were about to burst.  He ran until he could feel his inner core, the deepest part of him, begin to burn and catch fire.  He ran.  What was it he ran from?  What scared him so that he would rather his entire being collapse than to face this unknown phobia?  Was it himself?  No.  Perhaps it was his past.  No.  It was the one thing he felt no control over - the fact that no one could see him.  The sole purpose of exhausting himself was his involuntary invisibility.
Night consumed him as he stopped suddenly and sunk into the murky, wet, disgusting swamp.  He closed his eyes.  His chest rose and fell heavily as if it were about to collapse at any given moment.  
Name: John Doe.  Age: 18.  Occupation: Dreamer.  Dream: Composer.
Currently unknown to the world, John Doe had nowhere to go.  No one to cry to.  Only the silence of the night to weep under.  Darkness enveloped him and he sunk deeper under the murky waters.  He slept - he dreamt.
The piano was just at his fingertips.  He sat elegantly at it's open mouth and placed his hands gently on the keys.  He began.  The backdrop of stars danced along with the melody of his emotions.  He played on through the night - making love to the piano, to the melody.  His mind was clear, his heart was pure, and his eyes were weeping. He moved through Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata' elegantly unto other works including his own masterpieces. Michael Clearwater showed the world his passions and heartbreaks.  The dawn was breaking the horizon and waking the deadened  sleepers.  Michael Clearwater had lulled the world to sleep.  In his mind he had conquered all.  The universe stood to applaud him, to recognize him.  He stood, took a low bow, and before stepping from the stage, he took a longing gaze at his best companion - the piano - as if giving a silent applaud.
The morning sun broke into his dream and the recently dubbed John Doe opened his weary eyes.  He lifted his arms to shield him from the sun, but to no avail.  He stood on shaking legs and stepped from the swamp and made his way in any direction his feet took him.  No emotion invaded him, he could feel nothing.  His apathy faded into a numb expression on his face.  
It's only a dream - pinch yourself, wake yourself.  He pinched his arms in vain.  He closed eyes and opened them over and over again.  Nothing brought him back to a warm bed waking in a cold sweat from his nightmare.  The sun rose higher and higher and he was completely lost.  He stopped and listened.  Water.  Follow a stream - you'll find people.  He stepped slowly through thorns, limbs and bushes before he could finally see it.  He opened his arms, tilted his head back, and closed his eyes.  A breeze wrapped itself around him, enveloping as he let his emotion out into the air with every breath in his burning lungs.  Satisfied with the reaction he cause, scattering animals and such, he placed on foot directly in front of the other and slowly walked the river's bank.  In his mind he wrote songs, composed pieces for instrumentals, and distracted himself from his situation.  
The sound of splashing jolted him from his thoughts and he looked up.  His arms fells to his side when the twilight kissed the skin of a redhead bathing in the river.  His heart skipped a beat - or five, as he took in her figure.  She was slim, slightly muscular, her  He put his hand on his chest.  God definitely creates angles for the sake of humanity.  He found himself staring and looked away, involuntarily muttering apologies.  The girl looked up and covered her breasts.
What is she looking for?  Michael looked around.  He was alone apart from the stunning redhead.  She slowly backed out of the water and quickly slipped into a white dress that had been warming in the sun.  It flowed elegantly behind her as she swayed barefoot in the sand while she searched the woods for an intruder, then she vanished into the setting sun's fire.