With a sharp twang he felt the stab of the string in his eye. Not enough slack will leave anything to break. His eye was past bloodshot, it was a bloodbath. He was sure if he blinked too hard he would cry the actual red stuff.
He tried to keep it as closed as possible while still keeping it open. It gave him a rugged look, he thought, an air of Eastwood, of "come over here and say that." But the truth was he was in pain, and any passing breeze was the flick of a finger.
He tried drops. He tried organic apple cider vinegar. He tried breathing and wincing through it. Eventually there was the visit with the specialist and the overpriced ointment that did the trick. I should hurt my eyes more often, he thought, now that I've got the remedy. But he thought he'd like to keep the instrument out of this. There was no reason for it to get more and more out of tune, and sound less and less like itself.
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