The Jazz Tramp
The Jazz Tramp toots on his trumpet, high atop Juniper Hill.
His hunched figure a silhouette against the backdrop of the moon’s pale face. Wisps of fog tip their hat to him and curl away.
Every three Fridays, he plays.
His gnarled hands tighten around the glinting brass, he rocks on his heels, and serenity drifts down to the village below. Each note fades on the breeze with a new one following in its wake like waves licking the shore.
The Jazz Tramp no longer sees the fog, nor the sprinkling of starlight in the velvet canvas of night above him. He no longer feels the frosty air nip his skin. The Jazz Tramp is entranced, lost in the world he has created, even as he continues to create it. He is but a conduit. A wandering soul, he lets his soul wander to find the only place he has ever known as home. He is the music.
The moon begins to sink, but The Jazz Tramp toots on his trumpet high atop Juniper Hill.
Daniel Lamb has always wanted to be a writer. Actually, there was a brief period of time in his youth when he wanted to be an actor, and an even briefer period of time when he had aspirations of rock superstardom. In a way, he considers writing to be a form of acting anyway and has thus decided that he is killing two birds with one stone. As for dreams of rock superstardom, these were sadly quashed when he realised that when he picks up a guitar he is killing two birds with his complete lack of musical talent and subsequent noise pollution.
Daniel is currently studying English and Creative Writing at Salford University and enjoys writing everything from short stories to screenplays, all the while working on the elusive Novel. This is his first piece of flash fiction.