Being a guitar is not as easy as you think. Playing music and hitting the right tone for our owners is a very hard task, not to mention, very tiring. I am a 60 year-old guitar that has been passed on from my owners generation. My owner has always been into music and always encourages his family to be in it some way or another. Anyways, the reason I am here tonight in the open dark sky; is to tell you all a story about my life and experience since I was brought to this world. I know you humans out there might think that objects do not have lives and therefore they do not have a story to tell no matter how long they have existed. Well, you are wrong...objects have feelings just like humans, though sadly... we do not have the right to speak or express our feelings. So now...please give me a chance to tell you my story...and here it goes...
I was first born in a wood factory. Started off by shaping my body into something similar to a shape of a peanut. A big round circle has been cut out on my upper body and a long piece piece of wood is attached to me. Later I was put on some accessories which you humans call "strings". Then of course, I was put in a case and sent to be sold at a music store in town.
I do not think you want to hear my life in the store because it is quite boring. So, to make a long story short, I was bought by this tall man from the country. This man has brown hair and a pair of blue eyes, and aged probably about his late 20's. He brought me home with him that day and started off by adjusting my strings. He said that my strings were "out of tune". I did not understand what that meant as to me they are just strings. So, after a while he started picking my strings one by one and played a tune. Now I see why he tuned my strings...it was so that I will let out beautiful notes and compose good music.
My owner was a musician. Not a popular musician, but he played around town in small bars and restaurants. To me, I think he deserved to be famous because he played good music and sang very well too. He had been playing with me everyday until the day he found his love for life. He got married and no longer played at bars as often as he used to. I felt sad but happy for my owner at the same time because I knew he was happy and enjoying his life with his wife. Not too long after that, he got a kid. He often plays me for his child. I seem to make his little boy happy when he hears the music I make from my strings.
He thought his little boy and his wife how to play music and how to pick my guitar strings. I felt happy that I was to be played again very often by his family. Sadly... when his son turned 20, he decided to give me away to his son hoping that he will continue playing me. Turned out that, his son wasn't into country music, but he was into rock and punk. Electric guitars, basses and drums were to be his kind of music instruments. Well, I couldn't blame him for this because generation changes when times come..
One night, when he was jamming into rock music with his friends, he took me from the corner and started to smash me on the floor. My body was racked and my strings became loose and started to snap off one by one. I tried to scream as I was in pain...but sadly, no one seemed to hear me. I can't cry out tears for what I felt at the time... After it was over, they left me laying down on the cold floor for the rest of the night till sun raise. Till then, he dragged me to a dumpster nearby and threw me like I was a piece of junk.
