You were in your room in that little cabin your mom and dad had bought years back, just playing your guitar. Your dad taught you. John. You had grown to adore him and his music, his music somehow touching your soul, as well as always helping in some way. No matter what the circumstance was, John always seemed to have a song that got you through it, got you through year after year. John knocked on your door, and you called out for him to come in. He had a smile on his face, seeing you holding your guitar, the one he bought you when you finally got tall enough to comfortably hold a 4/4 acoustic. He took you in for a few moments. You were his oldest child. And, damn, he loved you. "Hey, kiddo. You wanna go out? Your mom and brothers went God-knows-where. Probably to the park, knowing them. So, wanna get some time, just you and me?" He said, optimistic. You would be damn wrong to deny him when he had that tone in his voice, that expression on his face.