Broken Strings

I grab the guitar slowly, as not to damage it.

The moment the guitar settles on my thighs, I hear myself exhale.

The feeling of pure contentment.

I smile and place my fingers on the chords.

I strum gently at first, but quicker as the song approaches the chorus.

One chord after another, and as the song nears to the end, I exhale again a little louder this time.

The feeling of pure jubilation. 

 

Suddenly, he comes in.

He opens the door loudly, I squirm.

He roars, "Little asshole, are you playing that fucking guitar again?! What the fuck is wrong with you, playing the guitar with no strings! Fucking crazy!"

His words burn and I arch my head down, so he doesn't see the tears fall. 

He pulls my hair and screams, "Look at me when I'm fucking talking to you. Are you fucking crying?!"

"No... I'm not." I wipe my tears.

He takes the guitar from my hands and smashes the body. I see the head of the guitar decapitated from its body.

"You little useless asshole. I was better off when you weren't here. I wish you were never born."

I run my fingers to the scar right on my arm.

He blared, "Your mother isn't here anymore, you little bitch."

His fusing mad, I see his pupils dilate; that was the last thing I saw.

I was missing from school, but they didn't know until a week after.

The police didn't question him, till two weeks after.

He told them I was out that night with a couple of friends, and I never came back.

He says he assumed I'd be back in a few days. He turns on his alligator tears, and paced nervously when they left.

One month after, my body was found in a nearby lake by a dog, he must've found the foul smell.

My face was pale, my lips were blue, my throat was torn from inside out, my fingernails contained no color, and in my back pocket was a bloody guitar head with one string.