Bonfire

So I went to a bonfire the other night at a guy-friend's from my co-op.  I knew most of the people there, and Kate and I mostly hung out with the girls we know.

Anyways, one of the girls who I semi-know stole one of the guys's guitars and started playing, haha.  Since we were kind of talking and yet just kind of sitting around, I pulled out my notebook and did a word train (I wrote down one-word things I saw, and words that popped into my mind) and then I wrote a story in half an hour.  Want to read it? :) Here it is.

The Guitar

Memories. They're in our minds but also in our hearts. But right now a memory is in my hands. I look down at the guitar and wonder why I sense a memory behind it.
"You gonna buy that, kid?" says a gruff voice behind me.
I spin around. The pawn shop owner is standing there, his hands on his hips. He doesn't look happy to see me handling the instrument.
"Um...maybe," I reply. "How much is it?"
The guy tells me. My jaw drops. I finger the credit card in my pocket. Only for emergencies, my mom said. Well I think this classifies as an emergency, so I pull it out.
"Charge it," I tell the guy firmly.
He eyes the credit card warily and takes it from me. We walk over to the cash register, and he goes through the process of ringing me up.
Of course the credit card goes through. I stare at the guitar in my hands.
"It's all yours," he grunts.
I thank him and slowly walk out of the pawn shop. Now I have to figure out why this guitar felt so special to me...
~*~
It's late. I should be asleep because I have school tomorrow. But this guitar keeps calling to me; it won't let me sleep just yet.
What do you want with me? I silently ask the guitar.
I close my eyes and try to explore my memories. Why is this musical instrument so important?
Then a memory hits me. My deceased dad. A song..."My Girl" by the Temptations. A guitar.
My eyes flicker open and are now glued to the memory in my hands. This is my dad's old guitar. I remember now. When my dad died, my mom sold it.
I begin strumming the guitar. Don't ask me how I know to play. I just...do. And I'm playing the song my dad does in the memory.