Short Story: Little Brown Button

Down the streets of Savannah Georgia, a jazz band plays so loud. Four seasoned players with salt and pepper colored hair, dark shades, and baggy clothes geared out under the pale moonlight in an alleyway; streets fit for kings. There lies a cello with wear and tear marks from ages of strumming, a bass guitar with three replaced strings from over 20 years of life, a saxophone, big and covered with tarnished gold peeled from the bottom, and a trumpet; loud and beautiful, filling the air with notes anyone could hear. Every night before they play, they pray and say their chant, “Let tonight, if it’s the last, ring music into their souls. Let our tunes bring happiness, that makes them lose control. If only just for one night, does this jazz band see it through, we’ll come back here tomorrow night and play them something new”.

Every Night for twenty years they played and rocked those streets, all wearing brown tweed jackets, with little brown buttons, in the tradition of a good time; never once forgetting to have it. One night, while getting ready to play, the sax player noticed one of his buttons was missing. Nervous and on edge he was unsure if he should even go on, “Over fifteen years of wearing the same ol’ jacket and not a button missing, and tonight it chooses to vanish. What’s so special about tonight?” he said to himself. Nothing, nothing at all. It was the same crowd that’s been jazzed up with them for all these years, and nothing was different, so this was a chance worth taking for him because they had to go on in 10. He tried not to think about it, because they prayed like every night, but something about that missing button just wasn’t sitting right.

“Alright fellas, it’s time to play!” the bass guitarist said, he followed them into the alleyway and raised his sax to play. He closed his eyes and they began rocking out under the stars. Five minutes into the session, he realized his notes never left the end of his saxophone. Rituals and traditions never went recited, but one little brown button caused so much distress. He tried once more but nothing came out. Saddened and let down he left the stage, leaving everyone in awe. His band mates followed behind him to see what the problem was. “First time in 20 years has this ever happened”, said the sax player. The cellist answered back, “What did exactly happen out there? Everything was fine”, “I gotta find my button!” the sax player replied. “A button?” They all said in unison. “Yes, my button. One of them came off my jacket and it’s gotten me all messed up in the head.” Little chuckles filled the room. “If you’re not going to help me fine, but I can’t play without it”.

The first time ever, they canceled a session, but they had to help search for the button. Stepping into the streets they left no stone unturned or no leaf un-lifted. Blending in with the sidewalks, transparent to the wind, settled in the dirt, or soaked in water, nothing came to sight. “Maybe it fell in one of the instruments”, said the bass guitarist, so they all went back to see. They got their instruments and blew, but nothing. “It’s just a button!” the trumpet player said, but it was so much more. The sun slowly started to set rays of orange and gold, that created a shimmer of light to gleam from the dressing room window from under the seat. He ducked down low and reached his hand under the couch and pulled out a shiny silver screw. Thinking it was his button, the excitement slowly left his face.

As dawn turned into night, the moonlight began its dance upon the puddles in the streets of the alleyway. The sax player took what he felt, was his last stroll down those alleyways’ streets that once filled every crack and blade of grass with rocking jazz. With sadness, he looked back at what used to be, put his hands in his pockets, and walked away. He felt something there and quickly pulled his hand from his pocket. He stopped and stared at his palm for a minute. It was the button. He should have been happy now that he reclaimed his once lost button, but instead, he is troubled with the truth of knowing it was never lost at all. The tradition was never broken, but he still couldn’t find the notes; “why couldn’t I find the notes?” he asked himself out loud. Just because the button wasn’t visible, didn’t mean it wasn’t there, and just because he thought it was gone, didn’t mean he couldn’t play. He lost faith in himself and put into something material, and once you do that, you lose who you are.

He brought the button back to his band mates and told them it was in his pocket all along. Everyone looked at the button in his hand and just laughed. They patted him on the back and told him to gear for tonight. The band was back and was ready to rock the alleyway like every night before.


Poem: Song of Innocence.

  • At  first sight, was the spark of love.
  • He was all she could think of.
  • He left back to his original birthplace,
  • Never again would she see his face.
  • A summer fling, they said to her,
  • As the memory of his face began to blur.
  • Everyday she’d sit and wait,
  • Holding the daisy that sealed their fate.
  • “Maybe he is thinking of me…”
  • Eyes filled with tears, she’d sit whispering.
  • “I’LL LOVE YOU FOREVER!” She hoped he’d shout,
  • Never would she give up doubt.
  • Coming back to her, arms spread with love,
  • Never relieving the hurt he’s caused.
  • Once and for all their love would subdue,
  • He would never again, bid adieu.
  • S.T.

    Poem: Song of Experience

  • Thunder storms and lighting strikes,
  • Cloudy days and stormy nights;
  • Bolts of light turning sand into glass,
  • As she sat and thought about the past.
  • “Its all his fault, he shouldn’t have left!”
  • Her heart was the victim in this theft.
  • Knowing he would soon love another,
  • She could not take this pain much further.
  • The guilt of the night was his to take,
  • As her core was beginning to eradicate.
  • She has seen all the wrong in his misdoing,
  • And there was no sign of her improving.
  • She wept day and night since his abandonment,
  • And acts in ways of belligerence.
  • Emotions of anger builds within,
  • There’s a creature inside her, beneath the skin
  • Alone she sits- full of pain,
  • Because he is the reason of her detain.
  • Off he fled, so fast and so swift,
  • And there she will remain, alone and adrift.
  • S.T.

    There’s beauty in the STRUGGLE

    Businesses that hide behind the facade of helping students,

    Why do you kill the hopes and dreams of those who are more prudent?

    In reality only hurting the ones who need the most help,

    And not truly understanding the feelings of loss they have felt.

    Which business fits the category of these heinous acts?

    Colleges, yes colleges as a matter of fact.

    Big spender, big spender send them more cash,

    And watch them rip the grants and scholarships right under their ass.

    Minority is the majority that is affected the most,

    While the rich kid gets off; sitting back, hear him boast.

    Misdemeanor crimes, who’s fault was it truly?

    Probably the one at first glance they fit as unruly.

    Was it the color of their skin, or their social status standing,

    Or maybe it just was their scholarship branding.

    Equality and equal share for those who have none,

    And watch the ones you try to hold down, rise up in the sun.

    So listen closely students,  who struggle to succeed,

    You see they tried to bury you, but didn’t notice you were seeds.



    Friendship ūüôÉ

    People go years looking for that perfect someone they can be with forever, why is that? Do they feel without that person they wouldn’t be complete, or do they feel it’s a necessity to have their perfect match by their side just to say they found it? Whatever it is, that’s what friendship is. Friends, no, good friends are those perfect people for me. You could go through many perfect mismatches, but once you find a good friend that is with you through it all, it doesn’t even matter. When people talk about their soulmate, it doesn’t necessarily mean a person you marry. I consider it to be a best friend. Someone who has been through all the ups and downs, ins and outs of your life, the shoulder you cry on, the ear you rant to, and the person that is still there through it all. ¬†Once you find your perfect friendship match hold on to it, I know I will.


    Childhood Memories.

    “The Spider and the Fly” by Mary Howitt


    I don’t know about¬†anyone else, but this was that one story that started it all. Its a cautionary tale. By definition, a cautionary tale is “a tale told in folklore, to warn its hearer of¬†danger.”¬†There are three main¬†components of¬†a cautionary tale, ¬†and they are, 1. Taboo. Something, somewhere, or someone that is said to be dangerous. 2. Someone who disregards the warning placed on said taboo thing/person. 3. That person comes to an unpleasant fate, explained in horrific detail.¬†the-spider-and-the-fly-9781442454545.in02

    This story shook my world growing up. I knew spiders ate bugs, but this led me to believe they were so much more gruesome. In this tale, if you haven’t read it, a spider is portrayed as a perfect gentleman who is most definitely trying to get this pretty little fly into his parlor/bed/stomach. He tried so hard with impressive words, and shiny things but she wouldn’t budge. Finally she decided to leave, but she didn’t get too far. The spider sang sweet, sweet compliments and she fluttered right back. She swooned from his kind words, portraying her beauty and got snatched up. She fell for his trap, and she got eaten.

    9a500f15aed736d56b677e98f858cfe0 spider and the fly RIP

    Do you know how terrified I was after reading this book? But, it also made me appreciate stories, and poetry a lot¬†more. If the words didn’t bring the story to life, the pictures sure did help. The imagery, and the graphics were beautiful. Now that i’m older however, I took the¬†meaning of this quote: “And now, dear little children, who may this story read, To idle, silly, flattering words I pray you never heed” very differently as a woman. We all like compliments, and flattery, but to what expense will we have it. This story can touch anyone, in any age group because honestly, we all been there. We let someones words, or mind tricks blind us from the real. I’ve been this fly, too many times to count, but unlike her, I was able to bounce back from a hard hit. I know not many people can say that, maybe some part of them died like the fly when they got played too. All I know is, this little cautionary tale spoke life into me, even as a child. Writing that can do that is everything.

    I love this story, and will probably read it to my kids one day. Hopefully, they will create¬†their own meaning from these words based on their own situations. Stories that¬†entice you to feel, or think, and even reflect on your own life, is a good read. Whats the point of reading something if it doesn’t make you feel? So, to anyone who haven’t read this book, GO READ IT! It’s 16 pages of pure mixed emotion. If you don’t like it, you can blame it all on me.


    Communication as a major. 

    Recently I’ve changed my major to communication. It was education, but I wasn’t dedicated enough. Not really. I had to change it because it wasn’t something I wanted to do. I HAD to pick that major my freshman year because the school neglected to tell me, while giving them money for application fees, and down payments on dorm rooms, that they had stopped offering journalism(the one reason I accepted this school in the first place) the year before I came.
    Now, there is no secret that I was upset. I had given these people my money and for what, they don’t even have what I want. So I had to choose something on the fly. I was convinced, (by outside sources) education was a good secondary option because I would still be in the field of English – I was young and dumb. 
    Two long years passed and I realized that wasn’t something I wanted to do at all. But I didn’t want to be lost either. I said, I’ll just get a education degree, with a teaching certificate, and I’ll be alright. WRONG! I hated the idea of that. Sooo I dropped education, picked up English as a minor, and found communication. 
    How? I’m not really sure. I like speaking to people, and in a lot of ways, I still want to teach. Communication is just that for me. My first semester allowed me to get out of my comfort zone, look at things very differently, and understand different concepts of communicating. It’s a new journey that I love I started, it’s kind of like a new beginning.


    New Beginnings.

    ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† Hello, this is something I’ve been wanting to do for a while now. It finally happened, and I am looking forward to seeing how¬†this new project pansout. Too many people have already told me, this is something I need to look into. I didn’t have the guts to put myself out there to be honest, but now I am content- wow that sounds horrible- I am really happy with the person I’ve become- much better ūüôā It’s time for a change, and I¬†reckon I’ll be the first to start!

    Okay! now that’s out of the way, lets write!