The day, I don’t recall.
The month, sometime…somewhere…
This isn’t quite starting out,
The way I’d panned it out.
Sojourn with me nonetheless in the intensity of my duress. The gravity should not be lost, it should not digress. Today I shall reiterate the excruciating account, and tell you of the man; the Count, most sinister no doubt.
It was warm and tantalizing, in spite of the cold. Heads sprouted as far as the eye could behold. Flailing hands sprawled blankets on open grass, to the sound of the brass bands’ approaching bus.
Songstresses swayed hips and pursed lips. Saxophones shone and lights lit. Fine men garbed in tinted specs, modish fedoras and sculpted goatees.
Yes, it was the jazz festival.
I had longed for the day when my ears would behold this fine marriage. Voice and instrument conjoined before me. It was so much more than music, it was ethereal…intimate. From the mellow sound of inhaled breaths, to the tightening and loosening of fingers; all were in tune, caressing and teasing their polished tools.
I loved everything about it.
Twinkling stars, bourbon in the air; carrying with it clanking kitchenware. Especially lovely was the unrestricted breeze. Soft and subtle like a baby’s coos. It teased me, called me, as it moved, washing over me from my locs to my shoes.
Then we all disappeared.
Nobody was there now that was there before, for we had all borne our ecstasy. Ears were tingling, excitement was warming and the harmonies penetrated flesh and bone. It was like nothing I had experienced before. Before, that is, the Count Beufoe.
Evil Caneevil, the hater of love, swooped down on us unexpectedly. Brandishing a smile, his waving divine, yet hiding beneath his ghastly plan. His gargantuan villas attacked us. They grew from the ground and grass like gas. He raised his hand; a chuckle; a breath. Then flung us; ground, to a place not be found.
No more music, no more sound, no more tuning, no more crowds. Count Beufoe had killed the jazz. He had built his empire on the grave of bands, Sirens, mermaids; mythical lands. They were driven away, no more allowed.
The open grounds were now the Count’s compound.