The Boy With the Broken Guitar
There he was sitting in his room, the lights were low and the traffic loud but his mind was thinking too fast to even notice. With tear-stained cheeks and a heavy heart he picked up his pen and wrote it all down. He wrote down the pain and he wrote down the sorrow, letting the words on the paper unscramble his thoughts. To a stranger he'd look frantic, almost desperate. As if writing on that paper would fix every problem he's ever had. And to him, it would. He stopped writing and looked down at the page, looked down at his master piece and a bittersweet smile crept onto his face. Gently, he laid it back down and picked up his guitar. It was old and had some cracks, but with a shaky hand he begun to strum a perfect melody. The broken boy began to sing and the world faded out. There was no more traffic noise, the fan that had been buzzing as it moved suddenly stopped, and it was just him. Just the broken boy and his broken guitar.