"Dear Mom and Dad,

I made it to Boston. I figured you'd like the postcard I picked out. The dog reminds me of Rex, be sure to hug him for me. I came here with 25 dollars and a full tank of gas. I'm going to make it here someday, I'm telling you. Tell Dad I said thanks for repairing the car, and be sure to tell him I'll pay him back with a brand new car when I make it. I'm spending the night at some run-down hotel tonight, don't worry about me. I'm not coming back home until I make it. I have to do this."

That was the last letter that David and Patricia ever received from their son, Mitchell. He did make it all right. He made it and it destroyed him. Little did they know, that on that particular night he wrote that, he was approached by record label executives. They saw how well he could play and offered him a multi-year contract. He accepted and thought that he was the most happiest man in the world. Fast forward to six years, and he's laying in the gutter next to his guitar. What happened to Mitchell? Sex, drugs, and rock and roll. A twenty year old thought he could handle the fame, but it turned out he couldn't. You could still see the injection sites on his arms if you looked close enough. He was covered in tattoos and bruises. Those past six years brought him up and crashed him down. Today he was found dead in that gutter. He wrote down his last words on a piece of paper next to him.

"It's not about the destination. It's about the journey. I had a hell of a journey and I wouldn't change it, if I could. I made mistakes, but don't we all? I never thought it would end like this, but it did. I love you all. Rock on forever and ever."