A guitar has been born, added to the ranks of countless others in the world. Shaped and molded from the finest of lumber, plastic, and metal. Perfect curves on the body, a lean, straight neck, and frets that shined like stars. Never has there been a guitar quite so exquisite. Commissioned by a great musician who's name is lost in history, this guitar was destined for many incredible things, to be played by many skillful hands, to see many sights, to travel many lands. This is its story.
As the guitar felt the first few strokes of its glowing new strings, it knew it was alive. As it began to hear the sound from these same strings, it knew it had just entered an entirely new world. The guitar breathed in the fresh sounds around it as if they were its life-force.
Suddenly, it felt the old soft hands that belonged to its creator and craftor. They felt strangely familiar yet somehow very new. The old man was about to play the guitar for the first time. The guitar did not know exactly what this meant but it could tell instinctively that it was true. Out of reflex, the bright new instrument straightened its neck, tightended its strings, and stretched its shoulders. After the longest moment the guitar would ever experience, the most incredible sensational euphoria came over it. There was no explaining it. It was simply pure joy. Then, slowly, the guitar heard it; the most beautiful sound it would ever hear. It was its first song. It could feel the tips of the old man's fingers runing along the strings on its neck, tapping the notes into the air. The picking of the strings was like the quick beating of a heart. The music flowing from the old man and the guitar was inexplicably awe-inspiring. No more beautiful a song has ever been played.
It was a song of beauty. It sounded with soft, flowing tones. It was Black Bird.
Then it all came to a stop. The feeling, the sounds, the sensations. The song was over. It was all over. So quickly, the guitar thought. It was over so fast. It wanted more. Like an addict, the guitar was hooked. It was official. Music was now its life. Its destiny. Fate had unfolded before it in mere moments, without even the slightest awareness from the brilliant device of sound. There was much ahead.
The old man put the guitar down on a standing rack nearby. It watched as he walked away, slow and bent, all the way to the door on the far side of the room. The light clicked off and it was night. The guitar sat in silence. All it could think was Is it tomorrow yet?
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2 comments:
Shayna says:
I really like the sensory details and the descriptiveness. I like how you made it sound like it was a person with feelings, if that makes sense. You could make it a little longer and the ending was kind of confusing.
1. So in the beginning you start off with a short sentence, try to extend it. Like a guitar had been born, with its creative detailing it had just been released or sold or something. i like the brief description of the guitar it really adds to the story. Give like a short thing about what the guitar was destined for like to amaze the millions or country, more specific.
2. Who was playing the guitar or is that more for the end i dont know. however, i like the fact you gave it like a personality just try to be more specific and stewp away from words like twang.
3. so did the guy make it or a shop? i like how they kind of have a bond. talk about what the guitar rmembered, his soft hands that stroked the strings so softly it buzzed. idk. somethinhg tha shows a little bit more of a bond. i like the explanation of how it was feeling. have some more character devedelopment of the guy playing it. the end ties it together but still have some development. be like it was the _________, the king of rock, it was led zeppelin.
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