The Guitarist

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By Matthew Wong

I strummed my guitar, listening to the tuning. “The G string is still off …” I whispered to myself.

“It’s the string, Matthew, you need a new set.” Nicholas said.

I said nothing, glancing at the rotting gutted lifeless body on the floor.

“People do let you down sometimes Matthew, you just have to push on for perfection.”

“Nick,” I said. “It’s not that simple. I have 20 days left …”

Twenty days to perfect this tune, from one body.

“Son … Who are you speaking to?” Her voice cracked and trembled as she spoke.

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