A creak invades the silence. Step by step, I reach the attic of my grandmother's house. A cloud of dust rises when I open the door. I cough softly. I observe the dimly lit room and focus on the numerous boxes.
"This place is a mess," I say to myself as I reach for a tall stack of CDs. I run a finger over the cover of the first one I come across, American Idiot by Green Day from 2004. A smile leaves my lips when my gaze falls on a large black case covered with numerous stickers of my favorite bands.
I slide my hand to the opening of the case and, after opening it, I stay for a few minutes admiring the guitar I played when I was only 16 years old. My fingers start to move across the strings and I realize they're still good. A strange melody is released from the instrument. I sit on the stack of books behind me, resting the guitar on my leg.
I start to arrange the various agreements. "I hope I still remember how to play it," I say to myself impatiently. I settle down better on the books and my fingers begin to navigate the seas of strings, producing the notes and melodies of my favorite song, Breaking The Habit by Linkin Park.
The melody resonates between the walls of the attic, thus creating a wonderful atmosphere. With a smile on my face, I continue playing. The notes of the song reaching my ears muffled, while my mind navigates an expanse of words and music.
YOU ARE READING
Collection of Stories
Short StoryWelcome to this collection of short stories, a journey through fantastic worlds, past memories and deep reflections. A collection of stories based on invention, memory and special moments. The pages you hold in your hands are an invitation to explor...
