The Low Brass String

The thick, coiled wire of the lowest guitar string rested right at eye level near the wooden bridge. I paused, listening to the quiet of the room. Moving forward at an unhurried pace, I pressed both front paws against the cold, brass-wound metal. With a slow, deliberate lean, I pushed it downward until it slipped free from my plush pads. A deep, mellow twang echoed through the hollow wood. The vibration hummed directly against my chest and traveled down into the floorboards. I sat back on my haunches beside the polished body, watching the string blur and slowly settle into silence.