Shane's fingers hurt.

For the past hour, he had been consumed with the task of untying all six strings from his guitar. An awful screeching sound erupted from each string as it was unsheathed, the horrible sound of metal twisting the wrong way as it was unwrapped from its resting place causing Shane to tense his shoulders in displeasure.

In succession to the screeching came the godawful silence. The silence of strings that could no longer make music.

The vocal chords had been ripped from the body of the guitar, the thin threads of Shane's musical years lying around him in an assortment of frozen tears.

On his desk, the phone lit up.

Yet another phone-call.

Yet another voice-mail that he would listen to.

Yet another plea that he would never build up the guts to reply to.

It wasn't that he didn't want to say goodbye.

He just didn't know how.