The Devil’s Apprentice

Posted: July 25, 2008 in Beauty, Culture, Dance, Dark, Electric, Fantasy, Fiction, Imagery, Jazz, Life, Music, Musings, Night, Slam, Urban

I can see the devil’s apprentice, a man with buzz-cut gray hair and long thin sideburns. Tattoos snake up and down his arms like twisting wires and his fingertips grind against the steel chords of his midnight guitar. The slim spectacles glinting on his nose conceal nothing as he pours his soul into the strumming and plucking of strings.
On either side of the devil’s apprentice stand two with instruments of gold clutched in their gifted claws. A saxophone, a trumpet, they squeal and stamp their song into the crowd. They are red in the face, mouths bulging with fire and brimstone. Their fingers tap out the whirling crescendos that dazzle and blind before they lay their weapons to rest.
The devil’s apprentice grins now; a tongue of flame escapes from his maw.
The roiling undercurrent of sound that pulses beneath guitar licks and snares and shrieks can not only be heard but felt as a wild-haired demon kisses his thick strings with steady fingertips. He stoically stands, a sharp contrast to the devil’s apprentice, a solitary and silent companion to the intense threads of fire issuing from the midnight guitar and the golden ones. His bass guitar is obsidian and sharp angles rimmed with white gold.
Behind the four black and white imps lies a master of rhythm in steady repose. One two three four, he sets the tone and pulls puppet strings like he controls their every move with his shining beats. He flicks the drumsticks across his set of tightly drawn skin and hard bone, he relaxes. He can feel the power behind his staccato beats and thumping rhythm.
The devil’s apprentice still bares his teeth in a grotesque fashion, a maniacal smile.
He laughs.
He laughs and drops the guitar pick to the ground and unleashes a new wave of sound and pounds away at the crowd with dancing tapping springing fingertips.
The devil’s apprentice is slowing, swaying from side to side. He slows, he relaxes.
He stops.
And the crowd bows low as the Devil’s apprentice swings his arms high.


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