His was the guitar. He composed his first song at four, gave his first concert at eight, and by 10, was touring worldwide. He loved music, it was his...only friend. But his parents, two people that used his talent to their benefit, poisoned him. Whenever he had moments of doubt, they would berate him, telling him that Mozart was self-assure, he never second thought his own talents. They stole his childhood, robbed him from experiencing bruised elbows, scraped knees, fistfights, and catching. I had her in my grasp. Perfect. “I want to fuck you. Hard. And I know you want that. The teacher won’t be back for another twenty minutes, so, what do you say?” After a split second of thought, she slowly, timidly, reached across and squeezed my hand, her eyes wide in anticipation, her lips silently mouthing one word. “Yes.” The last string snapped with that one action. I couldn’t hold my urges any longer. Holding her I lifted her quickly over to the side bench, her gasping in surprise. I was. More

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