My sleep that night was terrible because of that dreaded thing. My dreams filled with that saying “you can’t run away from your fate,” and I knew exactly what that piano meant by saying that. My fate is dying just the same way my grandpa did, getting your soul sucked out of you by a piano. I woke up the next morning “on the wrong side of the bed” as Grandpa would say. All I thought about was my despicable death. I had to admit I was wondering if that piano really did have a brain to be that clever. Going down for breakfast, I was really in the mood for some more blueberry pie the piano gave my family and me, but I couldn’t trust anything the piano made anymore. My parents were still thriving off of that day I granted all their wishes. I sighed as Mom ate the so delicious blueberry pie while putting the iPhone X she wished for on her facebook selling account.

“That dust isn’t going to clean itself Rose,” my mom said as she pointed to the desk she was on.

“Ugh! Mom, why am I always the one you ask?” I said, annoyed then left the room.

I was practically drooling for some of that pie, but no, I ate the same breakfast I had practically every day. I was going to stay strong for those souls. I tried to stay positive while I ate a boring banana and a dry, flaky granola bar. Then, I had a good idea. Why hadn’t I thought of this before? I made sure Mom had left the room when I searched through Grandpa’s cabinets for some weapons. By the end of my searching, I had a pan, a knife, a ladle, and a spatula. Like a mad person, I ran up the stairs and up to the attic. The pan, with the ladle and spatula inside of it in my right hand, and the knife in my left, I evilly looked at the piano. With a spark of determination and madness in my eyes I stood in front of the piano, and I stabbed the piano with the knife using all my might. I tried to think about all the bad things the piano did to my life.

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“You killed my grandpa!” I yelled. The dent the knife should have made didn’t appear. I must not have thrown it hard enough. I picked up the pan. That had to be heavy enough, now I just had to throw it harder than I had the knife. With all the strength I could muster, I threw the pan at the piano over and over again.

“You killed my grandpa!” I screamed. I started throwing the knife, spatula, and ladle too, but nothing happened. The piano just stood there looking as if it were new. I didn’t even make a scratch! It was bulletproof. To make sure, I threw the knife at it one last time. Not a mark remained. I groaned in frustration. How was I going to do this? And to make things better another message in gold slipped across the piano keys. “Your fate will come soon.” I didn’t have much time.