Guns and Roses exploded like dynamite on the old television set. The man’s eyes sparkled as Slash hypnotized the audience with his guitar playing skills. He slid to the edge of a third-hand sofa; he desperately wanted an electric guitar. He glanced at his out of tune, rough, old guitar lying in the corner.
For years Paul had been dreaming of playing guitar for the audience. But a few years after his parent’s accident, he was forced to live on the streets. Life had been tough on him – many times he slept with just stomach full of water. His guitar worked like a balm on the wounds of poverty.
Yet, he knew, someday, his sun will shine.
There were very few people who would talk with him, considering him for a job was a distant deal. He searched hopefully day in and out. Finally, he cracked a deal as a security guard of an old farmhouse. He got a minimal wage, barely enough to fulfill his daily needs but managed to save some for his guitar.
Days passed by… On a breezy autumn afternoon, Paul was playing guitar as Jessica sat on the stair and listened to him play. Jessica was his neighbor and interested in night stars. Paul talked music to her while she traced the night stars for him. They shared a somewhat similar story.
As the strings vibrated and leaves rustled outside, Paul felt uncomfortable with nauseous sensation and sweaty palms.
Paul said softly, “Jes I don’t feel so good.” His throat dried, tongue betrayed and guitar slipped loose.
“Paul…! Paul…emergency…” he heard Jessica’s distant voice.
The monitor beeped and squeaked; the people in white gowns inspected him. He asked in a faint voice,” Where… is my… guitar…” Then he passed out again.
He was sitting with the doctor as evening rays kissed his forehead. The doctor said in a grave voice, “Son, listen to me carefully. You have a tumor growing on your left brain. I’m sorry!”
Paul responded, “But…but I’m not old...I’ve many things to do…how?...How much time… I have?”
The doctor said, “Paul please calm down. You may have another 24 hours for yourself.”
Paul stood and left; the door shut behind him. He was discharged from the hospital - the last twenty-four hours he wanted for himself.
He drank on the porch. Jessica traced the stars with his fingers in her hand.
Paul broke the silence, “Is it fair?” They both broke into tears.
The next morning, Paul got a call from the hospital. An excited voice said, “Paul.. we have an antidote.” Paul punched the air. The voice continued, “It is quite expensive.” After further discussions, the caller disconnected.
Paul calculated: all the years saving. It was his lifelong dream or his remaining life; it tore him apart.
He went to the music street; went into the store and took a trial of the guitar he had always been stalking. He came out after a while and called the hospital, “I’ll take the antidote…”
He gazed at the guitar and promised to himself, "I'll come back stronger."