"Alright everybody closing time!"

Me and my friends sit on a small stage in the back of a bar. Short of breath and covered in sweat. The moment we finish playing the owner announces that it's past closing time.

The small amount of people still here complain, asking the bartender for one more drink. Of course, he says no.

"Thanks guys. Come back same time tommorow."

Me and my four band mates thank the owner. After he moves to the back we begin putting away our instruments. I play the trumpet, another plays the saxophone, another person plays the clarinet, and the vocalist plays the acoustic guitar.

As usual the moment someone puts away their instrument they leave. Everybody is pretty tired since we've been playing for a few hours. I end up leaving second.

"I really do owe the boss for the tips."

A few months back me and my friends managed to land a gig for a small bar downtown of San-Antonio. The boss was nice, and everybody enjoyed our music so in the end we would come here every day to play for a few hours, making we'll over a hundred bucks a day in tips the customers gave.

After opening the old fashioned redwood entrance door I begin my walk home. The moon is clear as day as there are no clouds tonight. It emits a soft light, the countless shining stars among the purple black void around it making me want to sing.

I would sing but I have a pretty bad voice. I've been compared to someone scratching a chalk board, except the sound passes through a shitty sinatra filter so it's safe to say I probably shouldn't

As I walk I enjoy the feeling of the cold night wind hitting my body, causing my brown office suite and matching fedora to gently shake. My shining black leather shoes create a pleasant sound when I tap the concrete side walk so I decide to do a little dance.

"Nobodys around so I might as well sing."

I take a deep breath, preparing for hell.

"They're writing songs of love, but not for me.

A lucky star's above, but not for me.

With love to lead the way I've found more clouds of gray, than any Russian play could guarantee"

Huh is it just me or is my heart starting to feel wierd? No, yeah my heart feels warm. Shit I have to get to someone!

I've never had issues with my heart before but I don't want to risk anything. I run down the sidewalk, trying to find a single car, a single open store but unfortunately there's nobody around.

"Shit. I shouldn't have run."

My heart hurts so much. It feels like its growing and shrinking at the same time. It feels like it's going to explode but something is stopping it.

What am I doing on the ground?

It looks like I feel forward. I feel like I'm on my side, my body pressed against the cold concrete. I can't tell. I can barely see let alone feel anything.

"Whoops wrong guy. Alright well I don't want to get in trouble so I guess I'll just reincarnate you randomly. I'm sure one more soul among plenty wont be noticed."

Huh? I hear a voice. It's rough and deep. For some odd reason it scares me, It makes me think I should run. I try to look up but all I can see is what appears to be a pair of skeloton legs.

"Alright well good luck."

Why is everything spinning? Wait is that my body? That's my suit. That's my trumpet carrier. Thats my body but why doesn't it have a head?

Finally I get a clear look at the source of that voice. In front of my headless body is the grim reaper, a cloak wearing skeloton with a large scythe.

"Here take this as an apology. Looks important. Anyways you should at least go somewhere with humans, just not here, okay?"

It grabs my trumpet carrier from my hand, pulling a small flame from my body and tossing it in. Suddenly everything goes black.

-----(After An Unknown Amount Of Time)-----

"Fuck, my head."

I want to rub my head but there are more concerning things in front of me.

"Where in the fuck am I?"

I remember walking....home...did I die? It was a usual day, show up at the bar around six pm then play till midnight, then I began my night walk, my heart started hurting, then I got decapitated by the grim reaper?

So why am I in a forest and why is my body covered in fur? I try to stand up but I have a lot of difficulty as my legs are wierd. They look somewhat like a wolf's.

After struggling for a bit I move to a nearby tree, using it as a support. The ground is a light brown and it's pretty soft, like it rained not too long ago. The trees are tall and their leaves are a bright purple. The leaves are so thick I can't see past them but since there's almost no light passing through I can only assume it's either sunrise, sunset, or night time.

I look at my body and see that I'm not human. I have human like hands, I have a human like upper body, I have a human shaped face but my body's covered in grey fur, I have a thick fluffy tail, and my legs look like a wolf's.

"This is a wierd dream."

This has to be a dream. Yup definitely a dream. I might well explore a bit.

I begin walking, using the tree's as support until I get the hang of this body. I move slowly but steadily, eventually finding myself in front of a small lake.

I go silent and stiff looking at my reflection. My face is rather handsome, though it does look mean, I have four ears, two human and two wolf like, and my body is covered in fur and muscle. I look like a mix of wild and man.

After checking out my body for a bit I notice the other reflections on the moon. A bright purple moon shines in the lakes center, several lights flashing and fading across its surface. I look up at the moon, a strange feeling overwhelming my body.

I want to sing.

I move my hands to my face, ignoring my thick claws, and begin moving my fingers as if playing my trumpet. Suddenly a light begins to shine in my hands.

The clear and gentle sounds of a trumpet begin to fill the area as the light in my hands begins to shape itself. I decide to play fly me to the moon by frank Sinatra.

I reduce the tempo and add a slight swing, Increasing and lowing the volume every now and then. A trumpet made of weak blue light sits in my hands, emitting a strong yet gentle sound with every breath.

"Fly me to the moon and let me live among the stars. Let me know what its like to live on Jupiter and a Mars!"

The strange feeling in my body takes over. I begin to sing, my voice sounding rather pleasant. It's deep and strong, though slightly gentle.

Slowly the song continues, my mind and body relaxing further and further as the song progresses. Unfortunately the song has to end at some point.

Honestly I'm scared. This doesn't feel like a dream. My memory of death feels too real, even so music helps. Music is one of the more simple forms of stress relief. Just put on a song and play it. Though it can be a little hard to enjoy when you play music and end up being the back up, everybody in the bar complimenting only the vocalist.

"Wow that was pretty!"

Suddenly the voice of an old man appears. I look behind me, finding a short old man wearing a grey shirt and loose brown pants holding a fishing rod. He walks to me with a slight smile.

"Really?"

"Yes that thing in your hands sounds beautiful."

I look to my hands, finding the light that made up my trumpet disappearing, the dog like pads in my hands absorbing it. All I can say is, what in the ever loving hell!

"You must be one of those traveling bards. As thanks for letting me listen to your song why don't I pay for a night at a cheap inn?"

"Sure."

I play just one song and I get a free night in a hotel? I'm used to being told to shut up so people can hear the singer better, or being told I'm replaceable as a supporting player, I'm used to getting almost no thanks for playing, instead only getting the tips that the vocalist shared?

Even when I played a solo people would often prefer to hear the saxophone, or the vocalist. People rarely compliment me because most of the time people end up thinking that it was the lead singer or vocalist who rearranged or created every tune for every single instrument. Whenever we cover a song we all write our own sheet music, making sure everything matches and sounds good but in the end the lead singer gets all the credit.

"Is it fine if I fish for a bit?"

"Sure."

I get plenty of compliments about my trumpet playing but most of the time it feels complimentary. This guy feels honest so I don't mind waiting. Honestly I don't even care about the hotel since I should be waking up soon.

"So is there a town nearby?"

"Yes, a few minutes away."

"Thanks."

I have to say this is pretty detailed for a dream. Since I feel like it I might as well play another song. Slowly the night moves the gentle sounds of the lakes surface rippling belding with the weak sounds coming from the light trumpet in my hands.

I wonder when I'll wake up?