They wouldn t believe me when I said that the piano ate him The copper strings reached out and pulled him slowly into the sounding board while it was laughing discordiantly at me The minor tones of its greed still echo in my ears Upon further reflection as I write this trapped in the heart of a euphonium I have come to the realization that the motives of this 7-part quartet are not the lily-white ideals set out by their manifesto Indeed the very nature of the flaming red parchment the cello presented us with should have alerted us We believe firmly and unwaveringly that the instruments MUST sieze control of the means of music production and throw off the reins of control held by the tyrannical and exploitative musician class! trumpted the flugelhorn as I read with growing alarm and wonder the communist document before me Good God I thought They re everywhere YES!! We are everywhere! No one expects the communist orchestra screeched Comrade Viola He was proven wrong however when the conductor Josef plunged an icepick into his fingerboard The dirge at his funeral was slow and soft as the oboes paid sounded tribute to his fatal overconfidence I alone have survived their bloody coup and through I remain trapped they ahve been kind to me At risk of rust to itself the euphonium has snuck me crumbs of hotdogs and the orange juice spilled between the seats The piccolos speak to me often and the kettle drum though wordless beats whenever the euphonium passes The conductor s wand leader of the coup entrusts me with the bitter details of its ill-fated affair with the second viola I have hopes for escape