Once upon a time, there was a Gilded TRUMPet, carefully polished to an artificial shine. A shine that was a bit too bright to be real. His whole life he had longed for a pedestal. As a wind instrument, he had always been taken by the hand, but now he wanted to stand on his feet. People tend to look up to you just a bit easier when you’re on top.
He watched the real Golden Trumpet parade, and its beautiful, authentic luster racked his eyes. He wanted to be like him! He blew and blew, his TRUMPet mouth much larger than the others. The noise rose, swelled and drowned out the collective melody completely. Soon other instruments were impressed, tone deaf as they were. They did not know it was not real gold that glittered. Continue reading “The Gilded TRUMPet”
Figments of a DuTchess 