The Power Of A Single String

• James Mizzi , Grade 9, Parramatta Marist High School
• Short Story
• 2014

Excellence Award in the 'The Text Generation 2014' competition

“Don’t go yet” I whimpered as the light dimmed in his eyes.
“Son, it is my time” my father replied with the undying wisdom he so thoroughly cherished. I remembered his final words as I trudged through the old cobblestone alleyways in old London. “Go to the alleys of bland new London, there you will find a light from the past brighter than any other”. I pondered what I would find, in the run down streets of what felt like ancient London. I reached the ominous place mentioned by my father, pulling away the deep green vines that draped over the rotting, wooden doorway. Stumbling forward onto the dirty, tiled floor, I stood still waiting for the lights to flicker on. For what seemed like hours of raw anticipation I stayed static, before realising that I had stepped into a room that predated automatic living systems. I racked my brain to remember the history of ancient London, I reached back to the wall as instinct overcame my body… I looked for the light switch. As my hand hit the pale switch the old fluorescent lights on the ceiling slowly awoke from their slumber. The light fell on a sign that read G-I-B-S-O-N. “Gibson what a strange tongue the ancient londoners spoke in”. Guitars? Music? what was this ancient Jargon? Suddenly my holo-receiver rang, breaking me out of my stupor.
“Andre what are you doing in the backstreets?” snapped my clearly baffled wife. “Michelle, I am simply carrying out my father's dying wish?” I retorted rather snidely. “ The anti-culturists are looking for rule breakers, hurry home”. In a panic, I stumbled home.

Days passed before I returned to the hallowed place with my wife. For I feared that our freedoms would be stripped and violated if we were found to be searching for ancient culture. So for days I sat at home searching on my private computer for a guitar. My database was limited as my computer was an unmonitored device. Trawling through blocked sites and warning signs I soon found an archived Gibson website. Music, I found, was a medium to portray emotions without words. To move the people around you with the sheer power of sound. It seems that the guitar is more powerful than the sword. As such my mind was made, I shall go and permeate music around the world.

After many arduous hours of cutting, plucking, stringing and screwing, the first guitar was made. “The firebird shall call it” I exclaimed in a loud voice. Plugging it into the global amplifier my heart beat in unison with the crackling speakers. I strummed. The melancholy world sang as people rose up against their oppressors. The power of a “single string” whispered Michelle. I smiled, the music uprising had begun. Soon, music overpowered the sombre anti-culturalists. Life became vibrant, the grass greener. People loved with all their heart. The birds chirped with more enthusiasm and the citizens spoke freely. Music changed our world more than once. Hopefully it will never will be lost again.