Mitch Waller

His Last Song, Played Twice

The tune slipped through the empty streets. It wasn’t loud, but it wasn’t contested. The only other sound for miles was the rubber of two gas masks against each other, and both had the same source. Two lovers, their faces pressed together as they sat on a small and unkempt hill in a small forgotten park, her arms wrapped around his neck as he played his tune. It was clear that the guitar was sitting at the wrong angle to accommodate the additional arms across his chest, but the tune was perfect and sweet all the same. He knew that while no one listened but them, it would ruin the magic of his last song to stop and start again.