| General Fiction posted January 2, 2017 |
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Potlatch Prose Challenge.
Mad Guitar
by Heather Knight
I used to be a great musician. When I played, the air shone with the sound of my strings.
I travelled all over the world. I wanted to be the best. I needed to feel powerful, adored. The clapping after a concert was music to my ears.
Hour after hour, I rehearsed non-stop. I didn't have time to eat. I didn't have time to drink.
My guitar and I became one. I caressed her the way others like to caress women or kittens.
And then one day it happened. Those evil spirits took my guitar strings away. They stole my frets.
I couldn't understand what had happened, I became desperate. I cried on the wooden body of my beloved. And that's how they found me. Crying.
They took my guitar away and they sentenced me to prison. The prison of these white walls for the insane. There is no music here. There's no song. There's nothing. Just a void where those of us who have lost everything can float...
I used to be a great musician. When I played, the air shone with the sound of my strings.
I travelled all over the world. I wanted to be the best. I needed to feel powerful, adored. The clapping after a concert was music to my ears.
Hour after hour, I rehearsed non-stop. I didn't have time to eat. I didn't have time to drink.
My guitar and I became one. I caressed her the way others like to caress women or kittens.
And then one day it happened. Those evil spirits took my guitar strings away. They stole my frets.
I couldn't understand what had happened, I became desperate. I cried on the wooden body of my beloved. And that's how they found me. Crying.
They took my guitar away and they sentenced me to prison. The prison of these white walls for the insane. There is no music here. There's no song. There's nothing. Just a void where those of us who have lost everything can float...
I travelled all over the world. I wanted to be the best. I needed to feel powerful, adored. The clapping after a concert was music to my ears.
Hour after hour, I rehearsed non-stop. I didn't have time to eat. I didn't have time to drink.
My guitar and I became one. I caressed her the way others like to caress women or kittens.
And then one day it happened. Those evil spirits took my guitar strings away. They stole my frets.
I couldn't understand what had happened, I became desperate. I cried on the wooden body of my beloved. And that's how they found me. Crying.
They took my guitar away and they sentenced me to prison. The prison of these white walls for the insane. There is no music here. There's no song. There's nothing. Just a void where those of us who have lost everything can float...
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