Oz sat on a dune, staring out at the great ocean of sand. He was in a beautiful desert, with a guitar in his lap. The sky seemed to be a splattered painters easel of colors, it was sunset and he wanted to write a song about the beauty there. His life had seemed to change with every rise and fall of the sun, a new place, a new job, a new motel room. He missed having a stable life, but he didn't let it bother him.

If he sat and thought about anything too long, he'd go crazy.

He strummed his fingertips across the strings. Listening to the cool clear sounds of something natural, something he knew, and loved. His music. That was something that would never, ever change. He would always have music, if the world burned every guitar and cut off his fingers, he would still have his music. It would always be with him in his head. Pounding, throbbing, it was a energy and something that kept him going. His music was something he loved and cherished more then life, something that he would keep for eternity. He could only hope.

He stared at the sky, the sun was nearly set and it had faded into a deep purple haze. His chords became darker and deeper as the little glints of what would soon be stars began to show in the darkened sky. The desert was beautiful, harsh, and never ending. He could sympathize with it, something that wasn't understood. Something nobody seemed to look at as. . . what it was. They only saw sand, heat, and shrubs. They couldn't have thought that if they could see the beautiful sunset.

As he looked out across the great desert he noticed a silver glint off of something only a little in the distance. He climbed to his feet, gently placing his guitar back into his case he began to walk toward the piece of what, metal? Sliding slightly down the loose pieces of fine rock he came to rest in front of the piece. He knelt down and gently pulled it from the sand, it was a intricately done silver bracelet, the clasp snapped.

He turned the bracelet over in his hand, looking for anything to tell him who's it was. There was only a tiny inscription he could barely read in the light.

Soon

Oz blinked at the bracelet. He wondered who's it was, and what soon meant. He shrugged, shoving it into his pocket he started back to his van, picking up his guitar on the way. The velvet black sky sprawled above him into a perfect night, and he knew he would be able to write music for it, if nothing else.
~*~End~*~