Belong to it

First born

She sounds like the most raw power in the world. Her touch is so soft and welcoming. It's as if she's teasing me every second I hold her. Such a beautiful feeling when I run my fingers through her. Her emotion flails through the room like a firework. Coated with matte black, the edges looking razor sharp. On the body she has three tone knobs, two pickups and on the headstock, a label with wings around it spelling "Dean." I hear a faint voice from behind me, becoming louder with every given second. "Brian." I look over to see my father standing behind me with an orange box labeled "Earthwood accoustic guitar strings." "Is that the one you want?" "Yeah, she looks and plays great." He takes her out of my hands to strum her a bit, turning down the gain and overdrive on the Marshall amp. He checks the clean tone, making sure she functions properly. He unplugs her, looks behind the body to see if there are any scratches or dents, only to find none. "How much does she cost?" "Well the pricetag says $299." "And you're sure you want this one?" I eagerly nod my head with a proud smile on my face. "Allrigth then lets go." I softly jump off the stool and follow my father to the cashier, only to catch a glimpse of what seems to be a worker with long brown hair, army cargo pants and boots, in a wheelchair, playing on what appears to be an Ibanez. My glimpse turns into stare and my walk becomes a slow passing as I see his fingers fluidly running through the neck and his other hand sweeping through the strings with a velvet pick. I abbruptly stopped and continued my walk to the cashier. "How can I help you today sir?" I heard him talk to my father in a layback tone, but their voices cut out when I once again noticed the man in the wheelchair playing. I couldn't help but think, "This guy is a total badass of metal." As I kept staring, I imagined myself playing at such speed. The loud sound of multiple strings being picked at different octaves, the feeling of fingers moving swiftly as they hit every note with such accuracy. "Brian, vamonos." I quickly recognized my fathers voice once more and speed walk towards the door, only leaving the memory of the mans beautiful shred lick in my head. My father and I walk to the truck and as he opens the door he hands her and his strings back to me. "Treat her like she's one of your children." "Don't worry, I already got a name for her." "What is it?" "Electra."