Writing Prompt

I take a deep, shaky breath as my fingers close around the instrument case. I carry it against my leg and walk over to backstage. I fiddle with the lock and pry it open. My clarinet lay inside, its keys shining and the wood gently scratched. The box of reeds is tucked in my jacket, and I pull one out. I flip the reed and set it in my mouth, letting the saliva wet the wood. I take the bell out of the case, my fingers gently running along the smooth material. I grab the lower joint and try to put it into the bell. The cork struggles to move, and I reach for the grease. I roll the cork grease over the cork and then screw it in. It works this time. I finish putting my clarinet together and reach for the ligature. I unscrew the tiny screws and slide it onto my finger. My leg thumps on the floor as I realize how close I am to having to preform. I've preformed before, sure. But the problem is, I have severe emetophobia. I shake as I remember almost all of the concerts I had attended, where most of them ended in a mess. My head races and I clutch at my stomach. I search for my water and grab it. I take a swig of it, and it subdues my nausea. I slide the reed onto the mouthpiece and line it up perfectly. What if I screw it up? What if I play on a rest? What if I squeak? My mind swirls with thoughts and possibilities of the outcomes. I groan. I know I won't throw up, but I sure as heck feel like I will. Almost my turn. "Jaycee Taylor?" A voice, scratchy by microphone, echoes. The person, a flute, in front of me gets up. She's a nervous wreck, but plays it off cooly. She flips her flute around and takes a deep breath as she pushes the curtains to the side. Jaycee plays wonderfully, perfect tone and pitch. The judge mutters something to her, something I can't understand. I hear her say her approval, and she enters the room. She looks sort of pale, and I find my heart leaping into my chest. "Abby Gayle Wright?" The judge calls. I inhale a huge gust of air and rise to my feet. I clutch my clarinet close to my chest as I look around. I'm one of the last auditioners. Jaycee meets my eyes and gives me a gentle smile and a thumbs-up. That somehow gives me more confidence. I step forward until I reach the curtains. They feel sort of velvety, and the dark blue contrasts with the sandy walls. I pull them apart until I can squeeze through, and then I push them back. The judge nods to a chair sat a few feet in front of him. I sigh and sit down. I place my mouthpiece in my mouth, wettening the reed. I eye the screws, making sure everything is intact. My stomach burns and I wish I had my water with me. "Whenever you are, Abby Gayle." He says, and he looks away. The notes flow gently out of my instrument, with the tone somehow being perfect and not too loud. My head races once more as I forget a passage to the song. I grit my teeth on the reed, before I just take a guess. I got it correct, somehow. I finish the last accented note and place my clarinet along my legs. I close my eyes for a second, and open them as I raise my head to look at the judge. He's focused on writing something in his book, and I can't help the thrilling smile that I gain. He looks up and gives me a wave off to the side. "Congratulations. You did great." He murmurs. "Thank you. I'm shocked I even played that well, considering how terrified I was, and how I-" I stop yammering as he stares at me with his dead eyes. I nod my head and walk off. Jaycee meets me with a bright smile. "You were all freaking out, weren't you?" She snickers. "And you played amazing. Congratulations!" She gives me a big hug. I did it. Somehow, I did it.

Just leave You aren’t good enough Look at them They are all professionals You are nothing but amateur night You stink You suck And are stuck In a rut Without much To show for your struggles Leave now While you can

Excuse me, you are next. Are you ready?

Oh, sure. I’m more than ready, he says as he leaves with a smile.

I see him. Draven Rosewood. The richest man in town, and he’s staring at me. I ignore the stare, and move to my things. My audition is next. I need the role of Juliet, in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, if colleges will ever blink an eye at me.

“Elena Star,” someone calls my name. I take a deep breath. I begin to walk out, but a hand grabs my wrist. I turn to see Draven smirking. “Good luck, Star. Don’t mess up,” he says in his deep voice. “I won’t,” I say clearly. He laughs.

I get on stage and the nerves hit. I turn to see Draven waiting. “Miss Star you may begin,” a judge says. I take a deep breath and begin my monologue

After my audition, I feel good. I wait a few moments and then a loud voice calls all auditioners to the stage. “Come see the cast list!” I rush inside and my heart drops, I got Juliet and _Draven got Romeo! _ Oh no, why hath he be Romeo!

Am i sane Am I sexy enough Macho Everyone got bigger muscles than me Piss take i can’t remember the lines Please make me remember the lines Don’t flake out What is my characters motivation Just do the job It’s not art it’s acting Would they ,like me Would i get the part Try my best Look forward to the next 1000 audition Payeck non the local bar as a waiter to pay the bills

This is what I have been waiting for my entire life. The fate of my future is decided today.

These thoughts rush through my brain, one after the other after the other. My heart beating, on and off but almost always on. It’s raining today, great. My perfectly slicked back bun poofs with frizz, needing additional attention when I sit in the cold plastic chair in front of the mirror with those terrible yellow flourescent lights that make you look like a ghost.

I look at myself, I lift my lips just slightly. I’m proud of myself. I got myself here, no one else did but me.

I gather my necessities, and head back stage behind the curtains and wrap the silky laces around my ankles. As I’m rolling the ends and placing them underneath the top lace, I envision my first time. I was so young, but the graceful music, powerful strength of my feet and legs, the intense feelings of determination, were enough to make me addicted.

I have completed hundreds of classes through my years, but this is the only class that matters. Hundreds. But only one that decides who I will become. What my future holds.

My stomach feels like it could fall out of my butt, and my throat has fallen through my esophagus, bypassed my lungs and landed right in my gut. I think I could vomit.

I am on stage left ready to give the performance of my life. I fucking got this. I peep my left toe slightly past the velvet red curtain and leap into my fate.

Sticky sweet with nervous sweat, the backstage was charged with magic. Rolling her shoulders, Wyck stretched down. Feet akimbo and hands flat on the cool stone tiles, Wyck allowed her head to hang loose. Her long dark covered her face. A dancer pointed.

“Oh my Gods, do you see what she’s wearing? She’s looks like a drunken troll,” Grimelba stage whispered.

“Maybe she is a troll because she certainly is a poor excuse for a witch,” Belladone said. “Why she would even try to audition for a spot in the Seers is redick? It’s bad enough that we have a race traitor as President Prietress but now we have to suffer mongrels.”

“Grim, dear, you have a loose thread at your hem and Bel, adjust your collar,” Royal Page Malis said. “It cannot help what it is. Focus on performances. Your dance of magic must be the epitome of grace.”

Facing the ceiling, Wyck stretched up, hands splayed wide. Barefoot, she was clad in a simple unbleached tunic. The Moonlit twins snickered at naked toes. Around her the other candidates were embroidered and beaded, silky and bejeweled. Smiling to herself, Wyck pretended she was a pen hen surrounded by peacocks.

“I hear her father makes her carry heavy rocks and chop wood by hand,” Trixelle said.

“No not by hand like an unmagic,” Belladone said with mock shock.

“Maybe her magic is so unstable has to use her hands,” Grimelba said. “Or she’s too stupid.”

“Well her father is big on muscles and small on brains,” Belladone cracked.

The candidates tittered with laughter. Snorting his own laughter, Malis clapped for silence. Backstage magic was forbidden before an audition, but not bull talk. Wyck sat cross legged and tented her fingers. With each breath she sank deeper into calmness. Since Wyck was old enough to stand her father, Stark the Strong, had her practice the warrior’s way. Non-combatants thought knights were simple fighters, too dumb to know fear.

Sittting with her eyes closed, Wyck knew only fools are fearless. Mom and her mother kin taught her to dance with nature and twist her magic into intricate swirls, but dad taught her to kick ass respect your fear and let everything you are fuel where you want to go.

“Wyck, you’re up, dear,” Malis called. “Wyck, Wyck!”

One of the Moonlit twins kicked Wyck’s side. Her eyes flew open. Removing her eye plugs, Wyck stood and walked to center stage.

Not this again.

I always tell myself it’s going to be different this time. But it never is.

Always the same panic. The same sweat running down my back. The same short breaths high in my chest.

I did everything right this week - ate right, slept right, worked out, tried those meditation recommendations from my friend.

And all for what? To feel the exact same?

People are noticing I’m panicking. And it’s not just in my head.

No person is typically this sweaty and this red. The idea of a smile or a laugh is incomprehensible.

How do I get out of here?

This actually happened and my director is a huge uh old guy that likes …

“Kallian. Monologue” Mr Shumaker said in a bored tone.

My heart starts pounding and I stand up from my seat and step forward. “Do you know what every one says about you? They say your a homeschooled jungle freak who’s a less hot version of me.” As I continue i play the next words in my head knowing I have to put my all because he doesn’t like me.

Finally I stopped and he rolled his eyes but the student director applauded and so did my friends. I did well.

Maybe I get a good role

(I did hehehe. I got a director play part as the director lmao)

_You can’t do it. You know you can’t do it, people have told you this so many times before. You’ll just prove them all right. At least that’s one thing you can do right, fail. Fail for everyone to see, so that they know they were really right about you. Only if - what if you’re wrong? What if you can do it? Doesn’t matter because you won’t. You’ll turn right around and walk out. Another missed opportunity. So many missed opportunities because you’re scared of yourself, scarred that you’ll prove them all right. But the power of proving them wrong, now that would really be something. Oh, you’re next. He didn’t look nervous at all and she left the room with a smile. Maybe you will too. Yeah, you will too. You’re just as qualified as any of them, anybody else here. You believe in yourself, what you have to offer, and that’s what matters. They’ll like you, they’ll sense your energy. You’re up, you’re going to do this. This might be the most important moment of your life and you’re taking it! You might fail - no - be quiet. It will be wonderful. You’ll make yourself proud. Do it for you. _

Chelsea stood backstage, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest. She could feel the nervous energy coursing through her veins, making her hands tremble slightly. Thoughts raced through her mind, "What if I mess up? What if I forget my lines? Will they like my performance?"

As she waited for her turn, Chelsea's anxieties grew stronger. She replayed her lines in her head over and over, trying to calm her racing thoughts. The pressure of the audition weighed heavily on her shoulders, and she felt the weight of her own expectations crushing down on her.

Motivation flickered within her, a burning desire to prove herself, to show her talent to the world. Chelsea knew this audition could be her big break, her chance to shine in the spotlight she had always dreamed of.

Despite her nerves, Chelsea tried to channel her anxiety into her performance. When her name was called, she took a deep breath, steadying herself as she walked onto the stage. The first few lines were shaky, her voice quivering with emotion. But as she immersed herself in the character, her nerves slowly began to fade away.

Chelsea poured her heart into the performance, letting go of her fears and insecurities. She delivered her lines with passion and conviction, drawing the audience into her world. The judges watched intently, captivated by her raw emotion and authenticity.

In the end, Chelsea's nervousness did affect the beginning of her audition, but as she found her rhythm and focused on her craft, her talent shone through. The judges saw her potential, not just in her flawless delivery, but in her ability to overcome her fears and deliver a powerful performance.