You can't sleep.
Who would be able to get a good night's rest if they were supposed to bathe in the River Styx (a.k.a the Bubble Bath Of Doom) the next day?
These are your last few moments of freedom. And you savour them, the way a child savours the last few bites of an ice cream.
Ice cream, you snort, what a comparison.
The night is cool, dark, and surprisingly silent. You walk in a lonely alleyway, with no idea where you're going. You're lost and clueless and alone and it feels good.And then you hear the sound: a soft strumming of strings. A guitar.
'Beg to listen, sonny?' A voice asks.
You turn around. There's a wizened old man, wearing a floppy cap, holding an acoustic guitar, sitting on a chair that hadn't been there a minute ago, right in front of you. That's not possible. It couldn't be. The shrivelled musician had just appeared out of thin air. You draw the Backbiter.
'Oh, relax. Trust me, I'm no monster. I'm not about to eat you up. I'm just here to...comfort you, help you chill, you know? Tomorrow's not going to be an easy day, sonny. Better that you sit here, with me, and unwind to sound of music, than work yourself up and become all paranoid.' The man's voice is soothing and calm and reasonable. You try to act suspicious, but he's right. Tomorrow wouldn't just be a hard day, it would be your last day. You walk up over to the side-walk, and sit down on a green beanbag that had appeared just as suddenly as the man and his chair.
'All right, old man. Play me whatever you've got."
And the music starts.
It's nothing you know, not any piece you recognize, but the notes, the melody, goes right to your soul, awakens it, and calls back on the past...
The idea had been to get the giant (or whatever he was), into a hardware store and kill him there. All the old tools would have come in handy. Instead, you ended up leading him into a grocery store, and destroying him with large, orange pumpkins which would have made great jack-o-lanterns. On the downside, the grocery store blew up and there was a heavy rain of burnt cabbages, cauliflowers, and watermelons in the parking lot. And somewhere in the middle, you picked up a was an old thing; the wood no longer shiny, the pick somewhere inside the hollow body. But once you'd gotten the pick out, and it was all the colours of the Milky Way, and started strumming the strings, it had sounded great. You and Thalia had had one of your fights the day before, which was why you fought the giant on your own. When you got back to your campsite with the old acoustic, she paid you no heed. But when you began to randomly strum the strings, she softened, and started singing just as random lyrics.
You kept at your playing. Just a little every night, to wash away the sorrow and fear that had piled on because of the monster attacks. You were both surprised to find out that you were a talented guitarist. With the help of a book you nicked, you soon got the hang of the chords and the notes. Whenever Thalia hummed a tune, you would get your guitar and invariably pick up the melody after two or three attempts at it. There had been a time when that annoying daughter of Zeus had fallen in love with a song, but would never sing it in front of you for fear you would tease her. You had to eavesdrop on her, when she wasn't paying attention to get the tune, and replay it on your beloved instrument. Soon, you'd learned the song, and only after killing a monster at a music store, did you realise it was a Jonas Brothers' song.
'Jonas Brothers? Really, Thalia?"
"What?! Nick's really cute, all right! I love his hair...it's so curly!"
It was around this time that you had realised Thalia was more than just a friend to you. So, in attempt to impress her, you stole some lady's curler, and tried to curl your own unruly, blonde hair.
"Luke! What have you done?"
"I thought you liked curly hair..."
And then she'd started to laugh. She'd laughed and giggled and snorted the entire morning.
"Thalia..."
She gave you one stern look, and then toppled off the park bench, laughing.
The guitar was eventually destroyed after it had become a weapon to disintegrate yet another demon.
You even recall holding a funeral for it.
'To the best guitar in the world. You will be sorely missed,' Read the engraved stone.
You'd moved on from there, and yet you'd always held a soft spot for the stringed instrument.
The flashback ends. You breathe in sharply, as if you had been about to drown.
"What the-? Did you...?"
The old man looks at you sadly, "Not everything of the past has been left behind. Each small thing makes a difference. Even something as insignificant as a pick. Hold on to the best parts of your life, Luke. Memories, and imagination. They give us hope during a hard time. Music too. Hold on, Luke, hold on..."
And then he's gone, in a swirl of mist. The floppy hat falls neatly on the side walk. You get up slowly, when something catches your eyes. It looks like a piece of the night sky. When you move closer, you realise it's a triangle. It's a pick. Your pick. There's a note attached: It's the small things in life which pave way to large decisions in the future.