Welcome to Micro Bookends 1.49 and part two of an unplanned great-American-authors series. Enjoy:
The Jazz Age was a time period in the 1920s when jazz music became popular. The period is mainly associated with the United States but there were also significant jazz ages in the United Kingdom and France. Jazz music originated in African-American communities, particularly that of New Orleans. Critics of jazz music labelled it the music of unskilled or untrained musicians. Eventually jazz was picked up by the white middle classes and large cities such as New York and Chicago became cultural centres for the style. The jazz age coincided with prohibition in the United States and illicit speakeasies became synonymous with the style. The jazz age ended in 1929 with the beginning of the great depression.
American author F. Scott Fitzgerald was born on this day in 1896 in Minnesota. He is most famous for his 1925 novel, The Great Gatsby
Here is this week’s photo prompt:
Photo Credit: Jimmy Baikovicius via CC.
The Judge
Judging this week’s contest is Karl A. Russell, winner of MB1.42 and MB1.48. Read his winning story and what he has to say about flash fiction here.
What?
A story of between 90 and 110 words starting with JAZZ and ending with AGE and incorporating the photo prompt.
Who?
Anyone, but especially you!
Why?
Why not! Because it’s fun. Because it’s a challenge. Because the winner will receive their own winner’s page, their story on the winning stories list, a ‘Who is the author?’ feature to be posted next week, entry into the ‘Micro Bookend of the Year’ competition, and a copy of this year’s winning stories compilation.
When?
Now! Get your entry in BEFORE 5:00 am Friday (UK time: http://time.is/London).
Where?
Here!
How?
Post your story in the comments section. Include the word count and your Twitter username (if you’re Twitterized). Don’t forget to read the full rules before submitting your story.
Anything else?
Please give your story a title. It will not be included in the word count.
Please try to leave comments on a couple of other stories. It’s all part of the fun, and everyone likes feedback!
Remember, only stories that use the bookends exactly as supplied (punctuation, including hyphens and apostrophes, is allowed) will be eligible to win.
171 Responses to “Micro Bookends 1.49 – JAZZ [micro] AGE”
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CHRIS AND MIKE vs THE DARKEST MUSIC
* * *
Brian S Creek
109 words
@BrianSCreek
#FlashDog
* * *
“Jazz,” says Chris.
“Nope,” replies the landlord. “Ain’t no one here called that.”
The whisper of a marching band floats through the air.
“It’s getting closer,” says Mike.
“Check again!” barks Chris.
“I’m here, Christopher.”
Chris, Mike, and the receptionist all turn towards the lobby stairs. An elderly gentleman makes his way down; saxophone in hand, a solemn look on his face.
The sound of the marching band draws closer.
“The Darkest Music has returned,” says Chris.
“I’m old, Christopher. Best years behind me.”
The sound of the marching band shakes the hotel.
“Mr Jazz, sir?” says Mike. “I believe your power will be stronger because of your age.”
For some reason, this made me think of a New Orlean’s funeral!!! Good stuff!
You’d be right to. I had the pre-credit funeral scene from LIVE AND LET DIE in my head while writing it. 🙂
Ha! I was thinking of the exact same scene!
Hi Brian – I always love reading about Chris and Mike – I would like to read more about Mr Jazz.
Funny you should say this because I’m been considering the odd C&M spin-off following the popularity of Quentin Fig (ep33). Perhaps we shall see. 🙂
Quentin Fig meets Mr Jazz!!!
Chris & Mike get certainly get around. Looking forward to Quentin Fig’s reappearance.
Not a Merlot
@thebatinthehat
110 words
Jazz. So that was the name of the sultry sound spilling from her ruby lips. It coated him like honey and tasted like bourbon on a Sunday afternoon.
He tapped his cigar against the crenels of the copper ashtray, watching the seductive sway of her hips from beneath the shadowed brim of his fedora as the heady notes of the saxophone washed over him in waves.
She caressed the microphone stand like a lover, pouring her soul into every note and seducing him with her dark eyes.
Of course, she made every man in the room feel that way.
He motioned for another drink, wishing he were half his age.
I like the timelessness of this – could be any decade and also clever how the sound ‘tastes’
Thanks!
I’m loving the way that you’ve interwoven hard and soft ‘c’ sounds throughout. It reads beautifully.
Thank you!
Lovely sexy imagery. I agree with Daz and can imagine this being read out by someone with a gravelly voice 🙂
Haha Thanks! I’m glad you guys liked that. I enjoy playing with alliteration. 🙂
Very atmospheric, brought back memories of hidden away night clubs.
Thanks!
I agree with everyone else. Terrific use of language. Very atmospheric.
Thank you!
EQUINOXICALLY YOURS
Jazz of autumn.
Spiced.
Balanced precariously; half day, half night. Poised, we plunge into the turning season, bound for the coming night of winter bright.
Blue sky. Indian Summer. Berry pie.
Yellow Birch leaves trickle down. One. By. One. By. One.
Sparrows assemble on power lines ready to soaaaar round the curve of the earth. Flying on, and on, and on, until Af-ri-ca.
Crisp new school starting stationery, reading lists, Gatsbys and politics. Crackling frosty mornings, winter clad in woollen layers. Wood smoke on the night air.
Cackling geese, trailing above, circling, circling, alighting and circling.
Stocking up for winter.
Hibernation.
A temptation.
At any age.
106 words
@feclarkart
lovely imagery, love ‘crisp’ and ‘crackling’
Thanks Carolyn – am kidding myself into looking forward to winter!
I love this – the idea that for a day everything is poised in a precarious balance before exploding, soaring and swooping in a succession of jazz images, as the earth tilts again. Brilliant.
Oh – thanks so much Daz – I wasn’t sure the jazz of this had worked on paper like it did in my head 🙂
Phenomenal. The colors and sounds rise and fall together like notes from an ancient instrument. I want to read forever.
So kind Foy 🙂 thank you – wasn’t sure it had worked.
What a beautifully poetic flash! Love Hibernation. / A temptation.’
Thank you Sal 🙂 must admit – hibernation a huge temptation for me…if I could only get off with it!!
Lovely – right from the start you brought to mind the colours of autumn and then you added the sounds.
Thank you so much 🙂
Wow. What poetry! I love it all!
Aw – thanks 🙂
(107)
@Viking_Ma
Bloody Good Show
‘Jazz time!’ The burlesque vampire smiled toothily down the golden microphone. Her hair was thick black silk to her shoulders, her lips dark and glossy in the spotlight.
The audience stood in his honour as he came out onto the stage. His blood-red cloak swept the boards, and he cradled the saxophone in his arms. It gleamed, highly polished bone. She blew him a kiss and he nodded regally, his long black fingernails clicking the stops.
Then he began to play, and even the ancient and jaded crowd gasped. For centuries he’d been blowing the bones, and they marvelled that Count Dracula still grew better with age.
‘blowing the bones’ made me laugh out loud. Great piece.
thank you!
Ooooh – Burlesque vampires, jazz dives and Count Dracula – lovely and dark atmosphere 🙂
You’ve written some great lines – smiled toothily – lips dark and glossy – long black fingernails clicking the stops. I enjoyed reading it.
Lessons in Jazz
WC 110
@carolrosalind
‘Jazz,’ he said mustering his most authoritative tone, ‘is the origin of all music. It will never die out because
every generation takes it in a new direction. It has evolved from blues through swing, into funk, rock, acid
and R&B. Armstrong, Ellington, Monk, Peterson, Coltrane are all household names.’
Ignoring the sound of shuffling feet he continued the tutorial.
‘Brubeck’s “Take Five” is the number one jazz track of all time, I guarantee you’ve heard it somewhere.’
The young cashier looked at the queue forming behind and made a mental note never to question a
customer about their musical tastes again — one of those things you learn with age!
Made me laugh Carol 🙂 fabulous when folk have a passion, but not when you are in a queue behind them 🙂
Thank you, I’ve been on both sides of the fence, having to listen to and waiting behind someone who wants to over share.
Oh! I thought it was an actual tutorial with bored students, and loved the ending. Very amusing.
jazz bores! Nice take on the prompt.
I’m afraid i have to put my hand up to being a bit of a jazz freak myself but I try not to mention it too often. 🙂
As Yet Untitled
108 words
@elaine173marie
Jazz hands punctuate the words; no hint of irony. Bursts of syncopated notes make his gestures swell. The room senses the impending frenzy, the edge of chaos.
Light glances metal: his audience roars.
The most dissonant riffs rise now and ricochet; surfaces ripple with sound. Fingers spirit music from the future. One last, long reprize charmed from the air, before collapsing to his knees with climactic exhaustion.
His audience, addicted, bay for more!
Compelled. He places the needle back on the record, takes up his place in front of the full length mirror and begins, again, his introduction:
‘The one, the only, a miracle of his age…’
Ah!!! May I have a space between ‘The’ and one’ on end line and I really will be more careful next week! So sorry, David!
Done 🙂
Thanks!
Ha! – love the misdirection!
Thank you.
Hi Marie – you’ve written this character so that I can see him – even though you don’t tell us how he looks!
Thanks very much!
Great twist! Who hasn’t performed in front of an imaginary audience?
Thanks, Sal. I knew I wasn’t the only one!
It’s like I’m in the room with him – loved it
Thanks!
Name: @dazmb
Words: 101
Title: “If you have to ask what jazz is, you’ll never know” – Louis Armstrong
Jazz. For the 50 years they’d been married, he’d hated jazz.
And now his wife had taken up the saxophone. A cacophony of atonal, squealing.
He retired to his potting shed.
***
With their own interesting lives to lead, they soon began to barely notice each other’s absence.
The selves that once had loved each other.
Until one day he found his suitcase at the bottom of the stairs
***
His wife would stop playing the saxophone soon after.
But she cleaned it furiously every day, determined to keep it shining bright.
And not dull, with the regretful patina of age.
David – can I ask you the favour of one edit please? Can you delete the ‘And’ from the beginning of the fourth line (so that it begins “With their own….” and insert “soon” between “they” and “began” in the same sentence. Thank you very much.
Done 🙂
Thank you.
Hi Daz – love this quirky take on the prompts – the underlying edge is sharp 🙂
Thanks!
Love that last sentence! Lots to love, here. Great symbolism.
Thanks very much!
A cacophony of atonal, squealing – made me chuckle.
Thanks.
I too love ‘atonal squealing’. That last line is great.
Thanks
Last Night
‘Jazz it up!’ Beryl opens a drawer.
I smile. It’s her night. I add a cravat and the snakeskin belt she bought me years back. I fetch water for her painkillers.
We’re waiting for the band. I’m on my third gin.
‘What will I do without you?’ I hear myself say.
She shakes her head, dismissing my words. The band begins to play. She sips her drink. I watch her eyes narrow and the music release her.
She’s flagging already. Is this the last time? I can’t begin to imagine the next few months. Or beyond. I won’t find another wife, lover and friend like her. Not at my age.
@SalnPage
110 words
Hi Sal – I like these two, that they are jazzing it up while she is failing, beautifully sad.
Thanks, F.E. !
Very touching, especially the last few lines.
Great characterisation. I just love the cravat and snakeskin belt- says so much. Lovely.
Love the little details – the third gin, snakeskin belt. Let ‘s you peek into his state of mind and what sort of history they have together.
Read your tweet yesterday, Sal, saying you quite liked your MB submission. With good reason – it’s a beautiful bitter-sweet vignette.
Ah, thanks, Geoff! 🙂
Village Vanguard of the Heart
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jazz smuggles poetry into soul place of flashing gold and love notes read through bourbon style haze a smoky room where the stage holds a single writer.
Light hair, aquiline nose, poised toward manuscript. Cross between writing desk and raven, this is humming-bird of inspiration, moment before lips press a gentle finger that hovers above your beating page.
Falling fountain days over. Money/acclaim. Maxwell Perkins putting job on line. Beautiful Zelda.
By fireplace, drink held old friend. Hand that once spilled ink, abandons bourbon on the floor. Fire dances. Your name warmed by its future a beautiful fountain as everlasting as the pen you played resonating with any age.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(110 words)
Grxhauntedengine04@gmail.com
Love the description of Fitzgerald, followed by the reference to Perkins and Zelda. A real story amongst the boozy reminiscences.
Thank you.
Hello Richard – I always want to hear your writing read aloud – this piece too. Something raw and lyrical, nostalgic.
Thank you.
I loved the humming-bird of inspiration line and the references to Fitzgerald.
Thank you.
The Magic Words
@hollygeely
110 words
“Jazz, spazz, razzmatazz!”
“You sure he’s a wizard? He smells like a hobo,” Andy said.
“Shh,” Mandy said. “He’s magic-ing.”
“Blues, shoes, megachews! Mandy here’s the one you’ll choose!”
“This isn’t a hair spell,” Andy said.
“Yeah…I burned off my eyebrows because I knew you wouldn’t pay for a love spell.”
“Ugh, not that again!”
“Sarah will be mine!”
“Tune, goon, pantaloon! Make sacrifice of this raccoon!” The wizard raise the road kill. “I’m kinda hungry, do you kids know how long ago it croaked?”
Sudden lightning struck the wizard dead.
“What happened?” Mandy asked.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Andy said. “It’s bad luck to ask a coon for its age!”
Love the wizard speak Holly 🙂
Thank you 🙂
Loved all your rhymes but especially “He’s magic-ing.”and “Blues, shoes, megachews!
Thanks! 😀
Would There Be Tears?
WC: 109
berrymichael07@gmail.com
Jazz, the poor sweaty, of all the people, I would have suspected him the least.
What do you mean?
Don’t you read the news? It was suicide.
Really? Why?
Loneliness, I suspect.
But, he was well liked.
Maybe when he was the new thing, but he got old, and people got bored. Nowadays, the only people who liked him were those who he made to feel cultured and sophisticated: sax players, I guess. He was never liked for who he was. This viewing will be a no show for sure.
It isn’t over yet. People may still come.
But they haven’t, dearest. We’ve been waiting a day and an age.
That’s sad – the old making way for the new.
It’s the way things go.
Such sadness in this dialogue.
I’m glad I met the goal. Thanks
JAZZ TALKING
WC 109
@carolrosalind
‘JAZZ, DELICIOUS HOT – DISGUSTING COLD.’
‘What’s that mean?’ She asked.
‘IT DON’T MEAN A THING.’
‘Stop mucking about.’
‘AIN’T MISBIHAVIN.’
‘You’re not making a lot of sense.’
‘COMPARED TO WHAT?’
‘Compared to usual. I’m not IN THE MOOD for your TWISTED games.’
‘SOPHISTICATED LADY – CAST YOUR FATE TO THE WIND – TAKE THE A TRAIN.’
‘A holiday! Now you’re talking AT LAST – STOLEN MOMENTS – AUTUMN IN NEW YORK.’
‘RUBY MY DEAR – ORNITHOLOGY – CANTALOUPE ISLAND – CARAVAN.’
‘TAKE FIVE, your SIDEWINDER is blowing apart my AUTUMN LEAVES.’
‘THE IN CROWD will be there.’
‘I’m not FEELING GOOD.’
‘APRIL IN PARIS or SUMMERTIME in SPAIN?
‘But thats so far away, it’ll seem like an age.’
I recognise some of the titles, not all, but enough to see how very clever this is.
Thanks,they’re all selected titles from the top 100 jazz tracks apart from the first one, that’s the Bonzo Dog DOO-Dah Band.
Not sure it works for those that don’t know jazz but I thought i’d experiment a bit with it.
I got it from what I did know, so I think it works very well.
Same as Marie – recongnised a few song titles – what fun to write a piece like this 🙂
Thanks for reminding me that the opening line was the title of a Bonzos track; I’d forgotten, even though I used to be a big fan of theirs. Very clever exercise!
(Like the pun in the title too!)
Thank you.
@AvLaidlaw
106 Words
Annus Mirabilis
Jazz died in 1963. I was there.
I played sax. The women came and went, and the money generally followed them. But my Selmer was my only love. Her keys under my fingertips, twisting me through the whiskey drenched nightclubs and the midnight blues. I didn’t care. Only ever wanted to hear that bad girl moan with dark and subtle pleasures like no woman ever could.
But nights dissolve and their magic goes to some place we cannot follow. 1963. The Beatles were back from Hamburg. The thump of those drums like pneumatic drills on every kid’s transistor radio. Brutal. Like music from the stone age.
Great inversion of what happened in 1963. And what a beauty of last sentence in the middle paragraph
Great lines – whiskey drenched nightclubs and midnight blues – darkened subtle pleasure like no woman ever could – nights dissolve – all really atmospheric.
Different take on the prompts – what a fabulous voice you’ve given this musician.
I thought Don Maclean established that 1959 was “The Day The Music Died”. 😉 Sombre take on the prompt, AV.
[ But surely the title should be, as our own dear Queen once said after “Burning Down The House”, “Annus Horribilis“? ]
Generations
@agardana09
Word Count: 100
“Jazz,” the man explains.
“That’s it, Grandpa? Jazz is your answer?”
The man catches his grandson’s eye. A twitch of a frown is all it takes for the boy to drop his head and, hopefully, his attitude.
“You asked, ‘what made me the saddest in life?’”
“But your answer was the same for, ‘what made you the happiest.’ How is that possible?”
“That’s jazz for you.”
He could see his grandson’s frustration, his fist clenching the pencil with teenage fury.
“My saxophone controlled the emotions of the audience, and myself. That’s why they called me the Master of the Age.”
Yeah! Jazz does that for you – makes you happy & sad usually at the same time!
Beautiful-difficult concept, something that makes one saddest and happiest. I like that you have the grandfather/grandson to show it here.
Succinct!
@stellakateT
110 words
It’s Only Music
“Jazz Fusion I love it”.
He carried on playing the sax as if his life depended on it.
She carried on slamming the drums exceeding their electronic amplification.
He wanted to slam her against the wall, make her listen to all the old great jazz masters or just jam his fingers deep in his ears to block out the cacophony of her wailing. She’d now started to sing and she was no Ella Fitzgerald.
“We’ll be great on X Factor. We don’t want to win, being placed is much better. We’ll be megastars”
She’s so beautiful, we probably will.
Reaching over he turned his mike up, they were New Age.
Made me laugh – liked the cacophony of her wailing… she was no Ella Fitzgerald.
Fab ironic twist. Liking the ‘slam’ and ‘jam’ in 2nd last sentence in the 4th paragraph from end.
Ah! ‘She’s so beautiful we probably will.’ Yeah, the singing’s not important!
“…the cacophony of her wailing” HA! More F. Scott (with his alcoholism and tuberculosis) than Ella!
Charlie Parker Plays a Pumpkin in October
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jazz like tiny shiny explosions of saxophones in the eyes, music sparkles a blown solo with small freckles of air – a spot of time.
Things move quicker now with a stale emergency.
Air bold new and old wilting a memory sleeping with fire.
You move like the knife that carved you with brilliant improvisations of light.
Capturing a year in your song perched on golden tree; no more rustling applause, audience has left.
Cigarette butts/cocktail napkins left behind.
Great party has taken place and you watch playing all alone in your empty chamber…
as if intermission were a great symphonic riff
surrounded by the braille
of a blind
age.
(110 words)
Grxhauntedengine04@gmail
There is a site called, finish that thought, that I am responsible for coming up with the first line and a special challenge. It will be a doozy. So I thought that some of the skilled writers on here might want to check it out and see what they could do with it. You know, the more the merrier. Thanks.
Hosted by Alissa Leonard. http://alissaleonard.blogspot.com/, runs 10pm Monday Eastern US time to midnight Tuesday, up to 500 words.
Small freckles of air – that’s good, as is the last paragraph.
I particularly like the way you have written the last 4 lines Richard.
@PattyannMc
http://www.pattyannmccarthy.com
WC: 110
Puurfect Ending
Jazz enjoyed her last lazy Sunday on Millie’s blanketed lap. Rain pelted gloomy windows, a lethargic fire burned, and an old movie, Jimmy Dorsey playing the Sax on the classics.
“A perfect kind of day, isn’t it?” Millie cooed to her ancient calico, tears welling in her eyes, massaging behind her ears. Jazz sprawled lackluster, eyes dim and not purring.
So many trials overcome together. Millie’s hubby dying, a break-in; Millie learned Jazz wasn’t a good alarm system. She reacted to intruders the same way she reacted to insects.
She wasn’t moving; heartbroken, Millie knew Jazz was dying. Holding her calico close, cooing, Jazz exhaled, peacefully passing from old age.
So sad – I’ve just said goodbye to one of my cats. I think you’ve captured the moment very well.
I’m so sorry for your loss, CR. They become our children, don’t they. I’ve had to say goodbye to many over the years, and each is as heartbreaking as the first loss. Thank you for your kind words. <3
A sad one Pattyann. Pets are family members to me – they leave huge holes when they go. Sounds like Jazz was well loved.
I’m the same, F.E. All my pets have been children to me. I love them as much as if I birthed them myself. I have many, many holes in my heart.
Quite, quite beautiful.
Thank you so much denmaniacs4. 🙂
@fs_iver
WC: 106
Title: A Girl Learning about her Roots
jazz
/jaz/
noun
1. a style of music of [a certain skin color] American origin distinguished for its use of caterwauling, untidy rhythm, and abrupt shift of accent. The piano, saxophone, trombone, and trumpet are primarily associated with jazz, though some stringed instruments may also be incorporated. Jazz rose to prominence in the early 20th century and was outlawed by the end of the 21st.
2. A code word or symbol of the Uprising. Often used to denote a location where dissimilar races could congregate in secret. Ex: Jazz Lounge. (See image.)
verb (dated)
1. to encourage rebellion against The Establishment, especially from a young age.
Original take, I like the idea of something different and particularly the use of (See image.)
An innovative take on the prompt.
Hi Foy – what a cool take on the prompts – especially when reading we realise that the definitions are original ones.
Agreed – great take on the prompt to incorporate its origins.
The Age of Jazz
“Jazz,” she whispered in her sultry voice, “I love vocals.”
Ella’s honey-smooth voice burst through the air in the car and spilled over onto the mountain breeze. Moon leaned over the horizon as if to eavesdrop on the lovers.
Later, she would wonder about the sounds of that evening traveling far and wide. She wondered about the pale skin on his tanned finger. She wondered about the photos tucked neatly in his wallet. She wondered about his vibrating phone at the most inconvenient moments. She was broken when she finally learned about his deception and her indignities.
Much later she would become smarter, dance to Ella’s Jazz, and gracefully age.
110 words
@needanidplease
You can’t beat a bit of Ella. I like the lines – spilled over onto the mountain breeze and the pale skin on his tanned finger.
Thank you, CR.
Hello Pratibha – oh gosh I am loving ‘Moon leaned over the horizon……’ just gorgeous.
Thank you, F.E.
Settling the Score
110 words
@el_Stevie
#FlashDogs
Jazz hands fluttered like moths in front of his face. Stan slapped them away in a double-bass beat, terrified by his vulnerability even though tonight Rosie kept him company. His tormentors laughed.
A jingle of coins. His money. Gone. Just like his saxophone.
“Let’s call it a donation to our community fund,” said one assailant.
Stan drew himself up, past humiliations fuelling his determination. He had one more tune to play. He whistled. A melody they didn’t recognise but which Rosie did. Out of the dark she leapt, her growl low, menacing, her teeth a razor percussion; her song bringing him the peace for which he had waited an age.
Nice twist, i wasn’t expecting Rosie to be his dog.
Nice twist.
Hi Steph – like CR I didn’t see Rosie being Stan’s dog coming – rooting for this under-dog and his dog
Thank you 🙂
Very good twist!
Thanks!
Bright as a Lighthouse
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Jazz bebop soul music of everlasting hipster frog muse.” Jack Kerouac said while writing “On the Road.”
“Must free Buddhist soul and let it roam in the open field of Thelonious black and white rainbow vision.” Ginsberg stated as he wrote Howl.
Richard Brautigan dictating poems on backs of napkins at Enrico’s with saxophone wailing as if fishing for lonely night trout.
Strip clubs winking neon creating machine like rainbows that arched over pots of fools gold.
Woman bright as lighthouses waiting for their ship to come in.
San Francisco night, in North Beach, alive with spirit of jazz and it didn’t matter one bit if you were under age.
(110 words)
What a nice nostalgic piece.
Hi Richard – so interesting to imagine back into history and what folk were all doing at one phase in time – fascinating.
Love this – evocative, yearning and somehow bittersweet.
GENERATION 1
* * *
Brian S Creek
109 words
@BrianSCreek
#FlashDog
* * *
Jazz. Generation 1. Limited edition. Still in the box.
$300. Yikes.
I wish I hadn’t seen it. Hello there, conundrum.
I have the money, just sat in my bank account.
But I can see the wife’s face, hear her angry words. Because she doesn’t like me buying these ‘toys’.
Damn it, though. I’ve been hunting this one for ages.
But it’s an argument I can do without.
But I deserve it.
But what if the washing machine breaks?
But it’s there, right now.
But what about little Jamie wanting to learn saxophone?
But it’s my money.
But.
Sigh. I’m thirty-six years old. Guess I’d better start acting my age.
A surprise
# # #
“Jazz,” he groaned, ” have mercy!”
He should have googled “Mike Stern”. But why ruin his day beforehand? The audience in the cushioned seats was quiet. Where was the show? The guy on the barstool needed a haircut. And a new shirt.
His mother nudged her elbow into his ribs. “You promised. Now listen.”
Yes, he did. In a moment of weakness. She promised tickets for Mastodon in return.
The lights went out, the music set in: Brushed drums first, the saxophone, finally the guitar. He steeled himself.
Two hours later he had to admit: The man was a mage.
# # #
100 words
@io_trooly
@PattyannMc
WC: 110
He was the Cool
Jazz was his name; jazz his game. I saw this talented old musician every morning I exited the train on my way to work. Always made sure I had a few dollars and an extra coffee, sweet, the way he liked.
We talked often, waiting to board my train home, more coffee, gratitude in his eyes for my gift in his change cup, his fingerless gloves clutching his rusted Sax tightly.
One morning, dozens of police poked him; he lay frozen, wrapped around his Sax. I cried.
“Did you know him?”
“He was the Cool! Best musician I ever heard play, though I haven’t heard him play in an age.”
Feeling It
A.J. Walker
Jazz singer’s making everybody swoon
Aficionados filling out the sweaty room
Double bass pulsing out its steady beat
I can’t be the only one suffering in the heat
The piano comes in with a forgotten melody
And the smoke and the vibe makes me ill at ease
The jazz singer’s making everybody swoon
Grooving to the spiked edge of the almost tune
She drags on a smoke wisping in the light
As the whisky blurs my edges gradually through the night
Then the saxophone bursts forth from the stage
Sending me to another time into another age.
(97 words)
@zevonesque
#FlashDogs
King’s X, Northern Line concours, 20:47
‘Jazz, sonny? Bit ambitious. You’d better keep practicing your scales.’
The old guy wants to walk away, but I am gripped by a strange rage. It makes me do the unthinkable: I offer him the sax.
‘Think you can do better?’
He takes it, searches his bag for something and pulls out the right mouthpiece. He stops my background track and launches into Take Five. Only a few bars in, a crowd has gathered. A pretty blonde girl who sometimes listens sings along.
It’s like magic flowing from the sax. I swear the old guy now looks half his age.
(100 words)
@_supersonya
Thanks for the Music and Vices, Mister Khrushchev
By Adam Houlding
110 words
For my Sister-in-Law Kasia
– – – – – – – – – – – – –
Jazz and troublemaking. Like butter on toast.
1955. Kość Klub. Polish People’s Republic.
Wrocław ain’t no tourist hotspot, but damn this place is fine! Gomorrah of the Catacombs, a sardine city of sin. These pollack chicks know how to twist, and goddamn they love our Charlie Parker!
My band-mates are rabid. Some high, most drunk and all feisty. Even Hickey, religiously homosexual, is seizing some male tail. A true blue outlaw crew.
Tomek calls us on-stage, replacing ol’ Davy Cree’s saxophone solo. Davy’s angry.
“Gotta be good, son, ‘cos average is for the Devil.”
I tell him we’re like fine wine. He tells us it’s professionals who gracefully age.
Great descriptions “Gomorrah of the the Catacombs” and esp. “sardine city of sin” and the bebop back and forth of the last couple of lines.
Lullaby of Birdland
110 Words
Jazz spilled out the muted alto, its blue wings uncontainable. They unfurled amid the smoke coils clouding the club, preparing for her song to take flight.
“Lullaby of Birdland:
that’s what I
always hear
when you sigh.”
She wasn’t accustomed to the chore sleep would become.
“Have you ever heard
two turtle doves
bill and coo
when they love?”
A weepy, old willow among the patrons reminded her of the tears on the pillow backstage. There was no farewell. No goodbye.
“Flying high in Birdland,” she belted out, hoping to soar through the atmosphere,
“high in the sky up above.”
Her love had been lost at too early an age.
David, may I ask to have “past” changed to “out” in the first sentence? Thank you in advance!
Done 🙂
Much obliged.
Cope
Jazz was what he called it, the whisky. He said it was as smooth as its namesake. I never had a taste for jazz or whisky, but we were out of beer, and I wasn’t ready to quit drinking.
He pulled glass tumblers off the shelf and poured them both halfway.
We drank.
The warm liquid burned the hell out of my throat, but I kept it down.
“Listen, man.” He paused, thinking carefully. “I’m here for you. You know, whatever.”
I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I drank again. We both drank until we puked. It was the wrong response but such was the age.
108 words
@goldzco21
#flashdog
Scott Free
Jazz bullets, a blues fusillade;
they both reached down my throat
pulled up my heart.
The cellar smoked like a firestorm,
notes blazing up the walls,
licking the mirrored ceiling,
blasting up from the depths
scraping the skin from my bones.
She billowed in like a wild chorus
of dangerously, freshly-picked roses,
high-stepping her way through the deranged
and the dreary,
her scarlet lips glistening,
her raging mascary eyes
scorching hot,
trumpeting a blackboard screeching fugue
spinning that sax
into a spine tingled solo serenade
that lifted me up
over the sky,
over the moon,
circling back
into a new and brilliant age.
103 prohibitions
@billmelaterplea
Signed, Sealed, Awaiting Delivery
@TheShakes72
110 words
Jazz, smokes, scotch – life’s three essentials. If pushed, I’d quit smoking but Jazz and scotch are in my blood.
Blood I signed in, thinned by scotch, red ink bravado. Man, was I wrong to doubt I could play so right.
Right away gigged, an imagination for syncopation. He sat at the back first show and every show after – keeping tabs.
Tabs I got in every bar. Sometimes I pay with trembling fingers. I can’t hardly hold an instrument no more but I can still hold a tune.
He waits as I wheeze one out. Old Nick, Nick of Time, watching my clock.
I dread the coming of age.
NFL JAZZ
~~~~~~~
Jazz football master Coltrane, quarterback of Patriots.
He calls, A Love Supreme, as defense allows Miles to break for 30-yard solo run.
But next time Gene Krupa, best middle linebacker in the game, beats fullback Mingus with a perfect drum roll as he comes through the chorus.
Charlie Parker, star wide receiver called “Bird,” because how fast he runs and how high he can jump, catches perfect note in mid-air end-zone.
Now, quarterback Thelonious Monk must make last second drive for Steelers. He plays the black and white of the refs perfectly moving his fingers down field without anyone noticing.
Monk orchestrates another brilliant comeback.
Great playing can never age.
(110 Words)
Grxhauntedengine04@gmail.com
New Age (110 words)
@brett_milam
Jazz infiltrated the background of my experience.
“Cheek to Cheek,” was on the nose, but that’s what happened when I used the alley near the club as a staging ground for my temptation.
They — they being the press, the police and the cockroaches of the city — called me Father Death.
So named for the silver-coated cross I left on my victim’s cheek. I wasn’t religious or anything — they didn’t know that, hence the name — but I liked the way it looked.
I placed it on the cheek of Cathy here.
“Heaven, I’m in Heaven,” I whispered.
Serial killers used to mean something in this country. I’m resurrecting a dead age.
— MOTHER KNOWS BERT —
JAZZ COMES!
Mum’s right, of course, in her own unpredictable Nokia text speak. Lazy bones is exactly what I am. I should have popped round today to say hello and to talk about Col’s birthday. Unlucky lad had his Raleigh nicked last week and she wants me to find him a replacement on eBay.
THIS BILE. WHAT SHOULD I SAX?
Pay what you like, Mum. This 18 speed hybrid looks good, though. Auction ends later tonight and the current price is £40. I think it would be a steal at twice that.
OK. NAY 100 POUND. INCREASE MY AGE.
—
101 words
@edbroom
Great take on the prompt.
@GeoffHolme
#FlashDogs
Word Count: 109
All or Nothing at All
Jazz had been her salvation.
In the speakeasy, air filled with blue smoke and blue notes, she shimmers into the spotlight.
Gold lamé dress gleams, lip gloss shines, teeth gleam, eyes glint. Her hands glide slowly, sensuously, suggestively along the shaft of the microphone stand, her fingers linger lustfully.
She arouses passion in men, envy in women… and seething jealousy in a figure standing in the shadows.
After the set, she leaves the stage door. A cigarette glows in the darkness.
“Lester?”
Jazz had been her salvation, her escape from an abusive marriage. She had finally embraced life.
But now she will never know the contentment of old age.
No matter how many times you read through them… Dave, please make that ‘A cigarette glows in the darkness.” (and the word count 109)
Done 🙂
Billie Holliday/Lester Young? Classic show don’t tell! Great story.
Thanks, dazmb, but,although I had Billie Holiday in the back of my mind while writing, I was really aiming for a generic jazz singer; the name Lester popped into head without any conscious bidding. I did ponder for a while whether there was some connection, but I let it go,what with the late hour and all. It would have been nice to be able to take the credit for this supposed ‘show, don’t tell’! 😀
Blowing Smoke
“Jazz?” I think. “Or Chazz? Or Spazz? It sounded something like that. Ring any bells for you?”
The kid’s all shifty-eyed, pupils circling like jets desperate for a runway.
“Mister, I know this hood. No one hereabouts got a name like that. Yeah, we got our share of spazzes but don’t everyplace, Eh?”
So I describe Johnny Spot. “Maybe he’s using a different name. He’s old, seventy, scar on his right cheek, trumpet tattooed on his right bicep.”
“Huh?” the kid’s mystified.
“Here,” I flex and point.
“Nah. Lots a tats. Nuttin like that.”
“Fine,” I lament. “It’s cocktail time.”
Nothing’s easy for a dick in this day and age.
110 obstreperous punks
@billmelaterplea
“pupils circling like jets desperate for a runway” – classic!