"Dreadful Dissonance" by Elizabeth Black
I stood in the wings, watching the band leave the stage. How am I supposed to make a good impression after that act? Why did the organizers have to stick me immediately after the best group of the evening?
If I turn around now, grab my instruments and leave, I won't embarrass myself. I feel like the kid alone on a cold stage playing an accordion right after everyone went wild over a fantastic jazz band.
I can't compete with Manic Fury. The crowd loved them! My stomach was tied up in knots so tight my gut cramped. I can't breathe. Christ, I must breathe or I won't be able to play the oboe! If my hands don't stop shaking I'll never be able to run my fingers over the calliope.
My heart beat so hard it hurt.
I can't do this.
I'm a loser. Who the hell did I think I was kidding? I'm no musician. I'm a dried up old hack whose time has long since past. Hell, my time never came.
Continue reading this tale in the the January issue of Voluted Tales Magazine
For more information about author Elizabeth Black, please visit:
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