Two weeks ago i entered with some fellow explorers an abandoned mental hospital somewhere in the centre of Italy.
Abandoned Asylums are always extremely cool, but this exploration has been top notch for several other reasons.
First of all there's the rain.
During the whole day, tons of water came hitting the ground after piercing the grey clouds above us.
If abandoned places, and especially hospitals or asylums, are moody even in summer days, just imagine how could you possibly feel when, wandering through the empty huge halls of a place of suffering, drops of water hitting the ground, or flowing on the windows are the responsibles of the only noise that could offend your hears in the range of several kms.

It was like dreaming: a group of men drowned in a blank, religious absence of earthly noises.

Then.

In the most beautiful hall of this place lies an abandoned piano.
The wooden keys are rottening, some are somehow useless while some works, still.
I play a single, low note, a C, and the voice of the piano sounds like the roaring growl of a monster reawakened.
The C flows for a moment in the hall, than it enters every hallways, it smashes onto closed doors, it bangs with full force on the peeling walls.
The whole building trembles and shakes from the edge of the fresco roof to the dark depths of secret cellars.
Then i play it again, and the brute force of his voice seems like growing and growing, like a tremendous but somehow composed feedback; the sound bouncing in his wooden case as bouncing on the walls of a mysterious cave in the most secluded hellish meanders.
Then i use every finger i have, and press as many keys i can.
A non-existent chord bursts and spreads his waves in the void: it's a revenge on weakness. An army of fools that cries with open mouths and glorious eyes hides in the case, their chests are heavy with decades of empty rainy days.