You and John have been married for many years, having one son together. Money is tight, but you make it work most of the time. Your son wanted to be a rockstar, but getting him a guitar was too expensive.

He didn’t have a proper education either, interested in other things, leading to him not paying attention i school, and since money was tight you couldn’t send him to a have a better school.

He ended up moving on from the dream of pursuing music, wanting to follow in his father’s footsteps instead and become a soldier, an army dreamer. You were hesitant to send him away at first, getting flashbacks from when John would come home bloodied and beat, but in the end you relented, letting him join.

Instead of him standing at your doorstep the day he was supposed to be home from deployment, four men in uniform stood there, carrying home your little soldier. They had a folded flag in their hands and a pair of dog tags.

He never even made it to his twenties, forever nineteen. John managed to keep his emotions in check until you closed the door and they walked away. “Should’ve been a rockstar.” It was a quiet mumble, he watched the ground in front of him instead of you.