Every step presenting a new sound, a new melody which was only broken every so often by the strident drumming of frequently flood-lit phantom lightning.
The revealing of teeth of my father's and mine, the frigid fingers of cold air running down our spine couldn't stall us.
It's amazing how a simple song, the tinkering of fingers, can prompt a sentimental moment that would last a lifetime, because here - in this dusty night-lit theatre, surrounded in falling drops of the moon - the world's grief and hardship is steadily dissolving away.
Gazing at our fingers prancing in front of us, I start to dream and wander through the past, as somewhere in another world I begin to slip into memory.
I sway to the tune, I start humming to the dark-edged chant of storms.
A certain note sparks a memory within me, instantly transporting me back to a time when I was small, quiet and shy.
When I would lie under the tired sun, arms spread out, eyes fixed on the woolly white beings drifting across the scarlet sky.
And with that, another note, another place. I am nestled in my father's loving arms, resting on a cloud, studying the black box which held captive our entertainment.
The smell of chocolate and marshmallows is swirling from our mugs.
Another note, another place. Sun beating on all those who dared to go out into it, sitting on the stairs of an old muggy caravan.
Mesmerised by the flow of water consuming the rocky shore in front of me.
With that I'm transported back to the cold, dusty theatre, my father and I tangled in a song, unbroken by my thoughts.
Fingers dancing in unison across the pale white ivory keys, every step bringing up a memory, every step creating a new one. As I'm sitting knee to knee with my father, arms tangled, fingers transferring feelings to sound, I smile, sway and sing to the dark-edged chant of storms.
- Tanita Lind, Year 10, Waitaki Girls' High School
