As I flee from my burning home, I grasp my guitar trying to get the fire off it. Its shiny, reflective terracotta and looks beautiful in the sun, making me yearn to play right now. I’ve always promised myself that if I had started something I’d have to finish it. I’d had just started learning the guitar and I’d hate to put an end to something that I’ve just started. I hesitate getting the fire off, having no choice to leave it burning. I close my eyes, running nowhere. I finally open my eyes, finding myself in the hands of a soldier. I glance at my guitar, seeing the shiny terracotta, still burning to a dark brown.