The soldiers ran around him yelling and firing their weapons while the lone man walked in the middle of them without the slightest hint of fear. The lone man simply played his guitar to the rhythm of the gun fire and the cries of the dead and the dying around him. He hated war. He just wanted to make it to the other side with his friends by his side. He just wore blue jeans and a short sleeved, thin fabric, black t-shirt, and the guitar he was playing with the strap over his shoulder to protect him against the chill of the blacked dirt open area that the battle was happening in. While the rest of the soldiers on both sides had full body armor, adrenalin, and the fire from their weapons firing off; while they kept their faces like stones in this area that they had to fight in. Only the corpse littering the ground on both sides lent him company in the freezing chill that attacked his skin. The lone man with the guitar had been shot an unnumbered amount of times but each time he even slightly stumbled he gained his balance again, because he refused to fall in the situation he was trapped to face.


There were only five soldiers left by his side against the unspeakable odds they were facing. The guitarist would not let them fall and fail like the rest had against the odds they faced. They had stood by him for all this time and had kept him going when he felt he couldn’t keep going. And now that it was just them left he would not let them fall like the rest and return the favor that they had done for him. Letting the strap take the weight of his wooden guitar he picked up a pistol from a poor man’s dead body with his dominant hand and started to accurately fire upon the enemy while his non-dominant hand played the guitar strings.

The firing of the pistol almost seemed to flow with the guitars music as if they wanted to help each other to keep the people going and to take out the soldiers that tried to harm those people. A soldier next to his side stumbled and fell to the dirt ground below their feet but he still lived to groan with the pain of the wound in his leg.

The guitarist yelled at the soldier over the sound of the war raging around them, “Grab my leg, and I will drag you with me if I have to.”

“It is a waste just leave m-”

“I WILL NOT LEAVE YOU! Now grab my leg and I will drag you with me!”

The fallen soldier grabbed the guitarist leg and the guitarist dragged him with him. The guitarist slowly limped with the man being dragged through the dirt. The guitarist got shot again through his guitar. He simply laughed as the pain shot through him but he continued forward.

“You try to knock me down but I will never fall. I am me and I will never give in. Never surrender; never die on your knees.”