He walked into the dull, gloomy room and took a seat. Picked up his guitar. Began to play. His harsh fingers lingered on the fretboard- Dancing, jumping, kicking. The chords let out a shrill, followed by a cry of laughter. Gradually the room lit up. Even the night stars got brighter. The moon sang. The chairs flinched off the table. Feet tapped on the colourful tiles which gladly buzzed to the sound. The clock's hands swayed uncontrollably over the plate to which they were affixed. And before it was evident, time itself had flown by proving how unreal it truly was. The music, like all other things, came to an end. The feet stopped. The buzz died. The chairs squirmed back on to the tables. The lights faded out. The man left. The stars and moon got masked over by the cruel, cold, winter fog. Time froze over.
And all that was left were the faint remains of notes once strummed across strings once touched.
Peace & Love,
Torii.
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