A man broke a guitar over--that is to say, on--another man's head.
The guitar-strings sounded the last chord the guitar would ever play. After expressing this final chord, the O of the guitar vanished.
On the floor, the smashed instrument looked like a miniature shipwreck in an extremely small production of Shakespeare's The Tempest.
People gathered round the injured man like a chorus of bees.
The man who'd turned a guitar into a weapon sagged with self-hatred and remorse.
A woman entered the room. She said, "Hey, that's my guitar."
The man who had been struck by the guitar looked deeply perplexed by recent events. His head bled, and the wound looked like a wet, red flower. "O," he said.