May 16, 2012
The knock on the door seemed to break the silence of the neighborhood.

“Hi. I heard you were renting out a room?”

“Ah. Yes. Please come in.” I replied.

The man looked to me as he was probably in his early twenties, but he could have probably passed for a teenager. He looked young and he was tall and skinny. Pale too.

I explained to him the costs and about the house and he ended up being a new roommate to my family and me. His name was Elvis. What an unusual name!

A week went by, and he unpacked all his stuff. He was a great guy, and my whole family had taken a liking to his presence in the house.

On one afternoon, I was walking around in the empty house; I walk past Elvis’s room. Something stopped me and urged me into his room. I tripped over something and looked down at it. After seeing part of a cardboard box sticking out under the bed, I realized that he was still hiding something that he had brought. Compelled to know, I dragged it out from under the bed and took a look. I saw a CD player and some old CD’s. Along with a guitar! “This is illegal! I’m sure he knows that! Maybe he’s just keeping them as memoirs.” I thought. I threw it back in the box and shoved it under the bed like it was. I ran down stairs and plopped myself down on the couch, thinking about what I had gotten into. “Taking in someone that listens to music!” Music had been banned from the United States because the new president thinks that music makes people unruly. Stupid theory if I ever heard one. But hey, the government makes the rules.

I decided to let it be and not confront him about it, and only to do that if he uses it.

Weeks go by and I have not heard anything musical at all. “Hmmm. Maybe they are memoirs after all.”

One late afternoon, there is a knock on the door. Just the same, it silences this quite neighborhood.

As I open the door, soldiers come rushing in, one tackling me to the ground. The next thing I know, they are handcuffing my family and bringing us to a jail. But where is Elvis? He must have escaped.

5 years. That’s what me and my family is sentenced to for possession of musical devices.

Those 5 years pass by slowly. Blocked off from the rest of the world and what is going on. I was interrogated so many times that I couldn’t remember what is right and what is wrong.

I finally get out and see something familiar on the first wall I see. A poster for some kind of show tomorrow. It was the young man. And he was holding the same guitar! The man I knew, but he now had slicked back hair. I could barely recognize him, but underneath the poster, it confirmed. “Elvis Presley. Greatest musician ever.”

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