Dancing With Myself

The fear I feel when their eyes are on me, searching me, judging me. I don't want to be seen.

The crowd is bigger than normal tonight, from what I can tell. The chairs are filled row to row, packed tight, claustrophic. I can see my usual table from where I'm stood; I don't recognise the man who's sat in my chair. It's a strange looking crowd here tonight; they're all staring forwards, the atmosphere thick with anticipation. They're just waiting for the show to begin, right? Surely there's excitement behind their stony expressions. Nothing to be afraid of.

I let go of the curtain and it gently sways back into position, straight and perfect, as if it were never disturbed in the first place. I wish I had that kind of resilience; nothing would ever go wrong if I were made of fabric instead of this delicate bag of bones. I can feel my heart pounding, each beat reverberating throughout my body and I begin to shake where I stand. I feel my stomach churn as though a storm is brewing within me, panicking.

What if something goes wrong? What if I miss a step, or forgot a line? What if I choke, or my body doesn't do what I tell it to? So many possibilities for disaster... so many chances to be made a fool of...

The thoughts swirl through my mind, they're all I can see. My vision blurs, my palms begin to sweat, I feel as though I may faint. How fickle our bodies can be, that at the first sign of danger, when you need them the most, they can begin to crumble and leave you helpless, no defences, no comfort. I want to run so desperately; I'm not even too sure of what scares me the most, all I know is that I want to disappear. I wish I'd never agreed to this.

Why did I agree to this, come to think of it? Was it to prove a point? That sounds like me, putting myself through something horridly traumatic, just to prove somebody else wrong. I don't feel so confident about it anymore; if anything I'd rather run away and pretend like the whole thing never happened. But I'd never live it down, I know that.

I'd be too disappointed in myself.

With a racing heart I force myself to stand tall. I must look ridiculous to everyone else, standing rigid with clenched fists, clenched teeth, clenched...everything, really. But that's okay, I shouldn't worry about anything else, all I need to focus on is my breathing. In for seven, out for eleven.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

(I can hear the announcer outside, introducing me.)

Out.

(I can hear the lackluster clapping, I guess the audience really doesn't care after all.)

In.

(The curtain begins to raise, my heart begins to race.)

Out.

Showtime...

Author's Note

Short story segment that has been in the back of a notebook for sometime. Feedback and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.

Considering adding more to this when I have the time.

Reviews

[SweetNutmeg]

This is a good start. I like the comparison the narrator makes between herself and the curtain. I'm very curious what happens when she (or he) goes on stage. I hope this is part of a larger work. What is here grabs me, but as it is, it doesn't feel like a stand alone piece.

[Jade]

Thank you! I've been debating whether or not I should carry this on, as it was just a short warm up piece I wrote to motivate me for an essay I had to write for college a while back. I'm leaning towards adding more as I also don't feel it is a finished piece, and I'd like to flesh it out and add more to it when I have the spare time.

Again, thanks for your comment.

[TerryDarcy-Ryan akaSh..]

Jade, you have nailed it. The things that go through us before emerging in plain sight for all to see. I was told once that ranking just under the fear of death is the fear of public speaking. I get it iv'e lived through similar moment. For what ever the reason you put yourself out there you doubt in that moment. The best part of writing is to touch someone with words so they may see a picture from it. I am new to all this but I liked it and i could picture the scene down to the chairs. That is if I have it right.