While My Guitar Gently Weeps By Beatles Mga Nobela at Kwento

you’ve won the lottery but they found out you’re under age? Sitting on his bed, Elmo adjusted the tuning keys on the stock of a very red guitar. It rested in his lap and the lead trailed from it, tumbling from the bed to the floor, where it coiled in a figure of eight before continuing its journey to a small square practice amp tucked in a quiet corner. From the grill, a small hiss emerged, broken sporadically by metallic pops as Elmo’s sleeve inadvertently caught the strings.

CHAPTER 7 Louela Jane The soft yet steady beat of the drums blended beautifully with the gentle strumming of Ivan’s guitar. As the melody filled the air, Luna took a deep breath and sang the first verse of My Wish by Rascal Flatts. “I hope that the days come easy and the moments pass slow, And each road leads you where you wanna go...”

She sat calmly at the breakfast table with everyone, holding his hand under the table and telling them it would be all right. The third show was another huge success, but it was marred by yet another incident. Tony Baez kept an acoustic guitar in the dressing room at each show. He played with it a little before they got ready for the night. Said it was his first guitar before he went electric and it had special meaning for him. When they entered the dressing room after sound check to wait for food to be delivered the guitar was lying on the floor in pieces. They all stared at it in shock.

I ask, looking up at Taylor. "Sure." He shrugs, starting to strum. I recognise Metallica's 'Enter Sandman', but it is unlike any version I have heard before. The music raises goosebumps on my arms, and I find myself singing along softly. As he finishes, he looks down at me with a soft smile. I find myself melting under his gaze.

"End of passion play, crumbling away; I'm your source of self-destruction; Veins that pump with fear, sucking darkest clear; Leading on your death's construction…" "Turn that off! Pleaaasseee…" She screamed. "You don't like the track of our favourite band. That can’t be the case." She could hear the sarcasm in Mike's words who was sitting on the armchair next to the sofa, still holding the drip. He turned the volume up. The characteristic guitar riffs and Hetfield's vocals reminded her of many painful memories. "Master of puppets, I'm pulling your strings; Twisting your mind and smashing your dreams; Blinded by me, you can't see a thing; Just call my name, 'cause I'll hear you scream…"

I can't help but laugh at her eager nature as I reach around and open up the guitar case and take out the Fender. "You're so bossy" I chuckle as I sit the Fender on my lap, testing out a few notes before launching into a quiet song. It's slightly out of tune, and I'm a little rusty, but bub wants a song so a song she'll get. And as it turns out, she loves an Elvis song.

“Let’s do this.” I grabbed my bass guitar and pulled up a stool. Conor fell into the melody seamlessly, and I closed my eyes, humming the words to the beat, my lips forming a smile as it fitted perfectly. Sure, there were probably some notes out of place here and there, and some chord changes were needed, but the beat, the pace . . . it was fucking perfect. It was Elena. All over. You’re not broken, baby, you ain’t shattered, Maybe a little cracked, but darlin’,

I might not have been invited into her bedroom, but one of my band members sure as hell had. “What the fuck is that doing here?” I jutted my chin out. My teeth grinding together. Elodie looked around, confused. “What?” “Tate’s guitar.” I knew it was his. I knew because our bassist had won it from me in an ill thought-out wager that involved streaking down the city centre in Liverpool. “What the fuck are you doing with that guitar, Elodie?”

He couldn’t keep seeing her as cruel when I knew she wasn’t. Just then, one of the guitarists strolled closer, his fingers dancing along the strings. He played right in front of us, the notes spilling into the air like honey. The melody was so smooth, so hauntingly beautiful, that I closed my eyes and let it wash through me, drinking it in as if it were something holy.

Monday is gone. Tuesday is gone. Wednesday sneaks upon us like a thief. I’m the first one up in the house. I tiptoe to the door but the sound from Calum’s room stops me. He is playing his guitar. I listen for a few minutes, rocking myself back and forth. He’s strumming the chords to the song we will be singing later today. I want to think he’s doing it for me since I’m a tight ball of nerves. That we are fine. But I know better.