"The Stockbroker"

[Lionasoarus]

As he shreds another note his finger tips drip blood down the neck of his guitar.

He has been alone for days, strumming and picking songs that only exist within his fiery soul.

He cringes as the notes climb higher and higher and kicks over a coffee table as the last sound climaxes into piercing scream.

His arms fall limp and his chin sinks to his chest.

The Music has stopped and he twitches as another onslaught of pain bullies its way through his body. His eyes begin moving frantically around the room and his breath increases as the pain first emerges as panic.

"Where is it?" he asks himself. "Where?"

There!

There is his numbness, there, in the corner of this wrecked, uninhabitable room he finds the glass of whiskey he clumsily poured himself prior to his escape into the Music. He bolts to the liquor as if he had been stranded in the Sahara and this bottle of hope was his oasis. He snatches the cup up and pours it down his scratched throat.

It is not nearly enough and his pains feels insurmountable.

Again, the familiar panic hits him like an ocean wave created by a storm fitted for ancient folklore.

"Where is it?!" he screams.

Underneath a bloody cloth he snags a corner of shimmering relief. The sun has caught a piece of the thick glass that his is salvation.

With his Fender fastened to his frame he jumps at the opportunity at ease and escape. He falls, then crawls to his bottle, aching from the strenuous journey. Seconds feel like hours and inches are mistaken for miles, but he is there.

He forcefully grabs the bottle and rips off the cap with intensity. Soon... his pain is no more.

As he struggles to his feet his despair melts into the cool, ocean breeze and his hands soon melt back into his guitar. With his thoughts silenced and his mind away, he shreds.

The notes in which he plays are the only recollection of his pain. He cannot speak. He is lost in the Music.