Since the age of five he had shown a remarkable talent for piano, and he celebrated his tenth birthday by playing Dmitri Smith’s 14th Piano Concerto in A minor accompanied by the Ulaanbaatar Symphony Orchestra.
Reviews were stunning. The fact that he played one of his own compositions as an encore proved that the world was on the cusp of discovering a talent so divine it made Bach look like a headless chicken.
Cornelius went on to become one of the greats of all time. Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, Dresdomida-Heregofinsopt tripped off everyone’s tongue. Not only that, but he became the richest musician ever to hit the world stage. He was regarded as a phenomenon; a living icon; the incarnation of Michael the Archangel. Then he died, well into his eighties, leaving a body of work so vast that people were in disbelief.
Except none of this happened. Because when he was five years old and asked his parents if he could learn the piano, his father simply said, “No kid of mine is going to grow up a fuckin’ pansy.”
And that was that.
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