I didn’t want to burn the guitar. It seemed like a waste to burn something capable of creating beautiful music to lighten our moods. I suppose heat is more important than art in our case though: we just ran out of real firewood, and now we must resort to burning whatever flammable materials we can get our hands on.
The glossy coating melted off the guitar first, like some type of clear chocolate, or a sweet doughnut glaze. The steel strings came loose and curled in on themselves, like a metallic hand curling into a fist. The fire blazed on, giving no regard to the fact it burned such a fine instrument.
Our band of survivors all crowded around the flame. We absorbed every last bit of heat the fire had to offer as we sat and spoke quietly of our dreams, the guitar flame our little beacon of hope. Even in this apocalyptic urban wasteland, where we resorted to burning musical instruments to survive, there was hope.
There is always hope.
“Beacon” is my submission the 55th FFfAW Challenge (Check it out here). It is composed of 171 words.
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