t was a warm Sunday evening. Lots of people were walking on the streets enjoying the nice weather with a cold drink. A mysterious man carrying a guitar suitcase was trotting. Like if he was late for something. He was tall and slim, long dark hair and big eyes. He would have been handsome if it wasn’t for his unshaven beard and his haunted look. Like if he was sleep walking. He only stopped his trotted when he got to the market. There he grabbed his Spanish guitar and started to play.

It was the sweetest melody ever. In a few moments a big crowd surrounded the musician. What nobody seemed to notice was the bright light that was coming out from the people and entering the guitar. Then the first person fainted. And then more and more. Soon half of the public was on the ground unconscious. Sirens sounded in the background. The musician took it as his cue and left.

It was another Sunday evening in another city. The same musician was performing in front of a big crowd when someone shouted from behind.

‘Die, demon!’

An old man with a brown cape charged at the musician, stabbing him before he could react. The musician started to laugh.

‘Thank you,’ he said before dying.

Not long after the old man suffered a multi organic failure and died too.

***

The police detective Aaminah Descoteaux wasn’t pleased with the scene she was seeing: ambulances; screams; two unidentified corpses on the streets.

‘Can anybody explain me what the hell is going on here?’ she demanded.

A young police woman stepped in.

‘We have two John Doe who got into a fight and killed each other, and we have several fainted people for no reason.’

‘Thank you Agent Wescott for pointing out the obvious,’ her voice icy cold. ‘Now can you give some information that is actually useful?’

Said agent shivered.

‘No, sir. No ID, phone or belongings that could help us to identify them.’

‘One of them had a Spanish guitar,’ intervened another young agent.

The detective sighed. ‘Seriously?’

The other agent put on his gloves and showed the instrument to the detective. Slowly she approached and touched it. It wasn’t much, just a light touch but it was enough to send sparks down to her spine.

Before they could register what was happening, detective Descoteaux had grabbed the guitar and ran to the streets. She was found a few meters away on the road. A car hit her and broke at least one leg and several ribs. The other agents raced to call for the doctors. The guitar long forgotten.

In another part of the city, a woman inspected the trash cans looking for something to eat. She was in her mid-forties, but she looked older thanks to a life full of mistakes.

She was about to give up when she noticed something on the ground. It’s a Spanish guitar.

‘Sweet,’ she thought ‘I can sell it and have a king’s dinner tonight.’

But when she touched it, another idea came to her mind. Tentatively she hit the strings and the most beautiful notes came to live. Her wrinkles and scars gradually disappeared until she looked like a beautiful young woman. She had no idea how she could play or how she was been magically rejuvenated, but she didn’t care. Her only care was how to make it permanent.

***

It was a beautiful summer day and lots of people were gathering at the park to enjoy it. A young woman walked among them with a Spanish guitar in her hands. Ready to give them the concert of their lives.