MPC #50A - Her Audition [solo/finished]
May 31, 2018 14:03:39 GMT
Post by Wish on May 31, 2018 14:03:39 GMT
MPC Name:"Golden Anniversary"
MPC Number: 50A
Reward Requested: Bits
“Will you be ok?” Her father asked, glancing at her from the other side of the car. She smiled at him in response, knowing she wouldn’t be able to convince him to stop worrying.
“I’ll be fine! Don’t worry, I got this! Didn’t worry Dr. Hanatori say I was good to go a WHOLE YEAR AGO? Gosh, you can be such a worrywart sometimes daddy.” Yume replied giving him a thumbs up and waving her arms around.
The man hesitated to respond at first, focusing on her his continued worried gaze, but finally sighed and surrendered to smiling back at Yume.
“Well, up you go then honey. Good luck with the audition.”
“Thanks daddy.” Yume kissed the man’s recently shaved cheek, then exited the car, carefully lowering her head so she wouldn’t bump it against the doorframe of the vehicle. She knew it though. Problems like these, they weren’t so easy to solve, if they truly could be solved. Though she had pronounced every syllable that came out of her mouth correctly for almost a year now, it wasn’t impossible she could have a relapse again. So, all she needed to do, was not think about it! She was about to join the school quire, what did she even have to fear? Her childhood friend had even shown up at her school again, she had every reason to think of everything else except for how her trauma had forced a speech deficiency, about how she used to speak every word in-
Yume shook her head. She was already thinking about it, and she hadn’t even stepped into the building yet. She took a deep breath, and got in, hearing the sounds of the car moving away behind her. Yume stopped and looked over her shoulder for a second, almost hoping her father was still watching her go in and hadn’t left yet. She was leaving behind what she knew, going into the unknown, she realized only now, as she almost felt herself shrink before the enormous polished marble of the building, as if trying to give it some old western feel, like some European dome. The art depicted on the walls, however, was very much done in a traditional Japanese style, and the several figures of spirits and former warriors alike seemed to stare down at her from the ceiling and walls as she traversed the halls to the stairs, feeling herself get smaller and her shoulders getting heavier, her limbs getting stiff her spine having sudden drops in temperature at every curve. She felt like she was being watched as this newcomer, as suspicious stranger.
For reasons she didn’t quite understand, the building used for the audition wasn’t the same as the room the club used in school. It seemed this building was perhaps better for the echo and the intonation and other things of the type Yume didn’t quite follow yet, but given this place did not belong to the school, it was usually reserved for special occasions, like the plays set by the theater club at the end of the year. What confused Yume was not the building’s importance, but why an event like this couldn’t just be done in the school auditorium or the music club’s room or even the quire’s own room.
Finally, she faced the stairs. Just three sets and she would be in the room which would decide whether she could join the school quire, enter the life of singing. Her heart was beating faster and faster with the thought alone, each step of the stairs feeling both one step closer to glory and one step closer to doom. She was breathing heavily, and she realized it. She might mke a bad impression, she feared, but she didn’t feel like she could stop herself. She had to change what she was thinking, she had to think of it in another way. Or not at all. She concentrated on the image that had been fixed on her mind from so long go. Yume pictured herself standing on a long semi-circular stage. There was a weak highlight around the edges of the stage, but most of it was nearly pitch back. In front of her, thousands upon thousands of glowing sticks, were the only thing illuminating the night up to the horizon, waiting in almost dreadful silence like the calm before the storm. Then, suddenly, FWOOSH, the lights would turn on, confetti would be flying everywhere and Yume would leap upward towards the edge of the stage with a huge, genuine smile, microphone in hand and covered by clothes almost replicating those of the idol she admired Yuri-Puri-chan, (“but even better” she would claim). She would great the audience with a cheerful comment, maybe a funny joke too, she would wave her arms, dance to her hearts content and sing a song that could put a Siren to shame. Meanwhile the audience would cheer on her, calling for her name, shouts of love and devotion coming from random more enthusiastic fans and Yume would wave at them and smile. This vision was comforting, it had stuck with her since she was a toddler practicing with a plastic microphone in front of her mommy, and the woman would cheer her on, say how much she loved her, and though she later for…
…got…
“Get her out of my house! No, I don’t love her, how could I love some random burglar girl?!”
These words echoed in Yume’s head, suddenly. With only one more flight of stairs to go, Yume heard the sound of the elevator opening.
“They are coming! Those Americans! Those burglars!” An old woman in a wheel chair was being held back by a doctor.
“This is the wrong floor… I’m sorry miss, don’t mind her. Her memory is a little jumbled, that’s all.” The doctor said, flashing a futile reassuring smile.
..................................................................................................................................................................................
“Staws abow-”
“Miss Negai, stop, please!” The teacher shouted, silencing the other people in the room. “I knew it was weird you came in shaking, but really? Did you have to waste my time AND the school’s precious funds just to show up to this audition today and not even nail ONE word correctly? Can’t you speak? If you think this is some kind of joke, miss Negai, then I’m afraid I can’t allow you to enter. It is not my usual policy to say this before all the results are in, but Yume Negai, you are NOT permitted to join this quire!”
An image flashed before Yume’s eyes. She was in a semi-circular stage, only illuminated by the glowing sticks and the lights in the edge. Then suddenly the lights went off before Yume was ready, she tried to improvise but ended up falling flat on her face instead, the microphone shattering into pieces, turning into dust. Confetti blew in her face, the laughter from the audience was loud, echo-ey, mean, inescapable.
“No…pwease…” Yume begged, covering her own mouth. She felt her body shrinking, and right beneath her on the stage opened a chasm. There was a bottom in sight: a garbage can full of mud, which she immediately fell into, feeling herself sink deeper and deeper into the mood even as she struggled to get out.
“I…”
“Miss Negai, not another word. Get out of this place. Disrespectful child.”
It was at this moment Yume realized something very important. In her mental image, she closed her eyes, and simply allowed herself to sink into that warm, comfy mud.
Word Count: about 1248
MPC Number: 50A
Reward Requested: Bits
“Will you be ok?” Her father asked, glancing at her from the other side of the car. She smiled at him in response, knowing she wouldn’t be able to convince him to stop worrying.
“I’ll be fine! Don’t worry, I got this! Didn’t worry Dr. Hanatori say I was good to go a WHOLE YEAR AGO? Gosh, you can be such a worrywart sometimes daddy.” Yume replied giving him a thumbs up and waving her arms around.
The man hesitated to respond at first, focusing on her his continued worried gaze, but finally sighed and surrendered to smiling back at Yume.
“Well, up you go then honey. Good luck with the audition.”
“Thanks daddy.” Yume kissed the man’s recently shaved cheek, then exited the car, carefully lowering her head so she wouldn’t bump it against the doorframe of the vehicle. She knew it though. Problems like these, they weren’t so easy to solve, if they truly could be solved. Though she had pronounced every syllable that came out of her mouth correctly for almost a year now, it wasn’t impossible she could have a relapse again. So, all she needed to do, was not think about it! She was about to join the school quire, what did she even have to fear? Her childhood friend had even shown up at her school again, she had every reason to think of everything else except for how her trauma had forced a speech deficiency, about how she used to speak every word in-
Yume shook her head. She was already thinking about it, and she hadn’t even stepped into the building yet. She took a deep breath, and got in, hearing the sounds of the car moving away behind her. Yume stopped and looked over her shoulder for a second, almost hoping her father was still watching her go in and hadn’t left yet. She was leaving behind what she knew, going into the unknown, she realized only now, as she almost felt herself shrink before the enormous polished marble of the building, as if trying to give it some old western feel, like some European dome. The art depicted on the walls, however, was very much done in a traditional Japanese style, and the several figures of spirits and former warriors alike seemed to stare down at her from the ceiling and walls as she traversed the halls to the stairs, feeling herself get smaller and her shoulders getting heavier, her limbs getting stiff her spine having sudden drops in temperature at every curve. She felt like she was being watched as this newcomer, as suspicious stranger.
For reasons she didn’t quite understand, the building used for the audition wasn’t the same as the room the club used in school. It seemed this building was perhaps better for the echo and the intonation and other things of the type Yume didn’t quite follow yet, but given this place did not belong to the school, it was usually reserved for special occasions, like the plays set by the theater club at the end of the year. What confused Yume was not the building’s importance, but why an event like this couldn’t just be done in the school auditorium or the music club’s room or even the quire’s own room.
Finally, she faced the stairs. Just three sets and she would be in the room which would decide whether she could join the school quire, enter the life of singing. Her heart was beating faster and faster with the thought alone, each step of the stairs feeling both one step closer to glory and one step closer to doom. She was breathing heavily, and she realized it. She might mke a bad impression, she feared, but she didn’t feel like she could stop herself. She had to change what she was thinking, she had to think of it in another way. Or not at all. She concentrated on the image that had been fixed on her mind from so long go. Yume pictured herself standing on a long semi-circular stage. There was a weak highlight around the edges of the stage, but most of it was nearly pitch back. In front of her, thousands upon thousands of glowing sticks, were the only thing illuminating the night up to the horizon, waiting in almost dreadful silence like the calm before the storm. Then, suddenly, FWOOSH, the lights would turn on, confetti would be flying everywhere and Yume would leap upward towards the edge of the stage with a huge, genuine smile, microphone in hand and covered by clothes almost replicating those of the idol she admired Yuri-Puri-chan, (“but even better” she would claim). She would great the audience with a cheerful comment, maybe a funny joke too, she would wave her arms, dance to her hearts content and sing a song that could put a Siren to shame. Meanwhile the audience would cheer on her, calling for her name, shouts of love and devotion coming from random more enthusiastic fans and Yume would wave at them and smile. This vision was comforting, it had stuck with her since she was a toddler practicing with a plastic microphone in front of her mommy, and the woman would cheer her on, say how much she loved her, and though she later for…
…got…
“Get her out of my house! No, I don’t love her, how could I love some random burglar girl?!”
These words echoed in Yume’s head, suddenly. With only one more flight of stairs to go, Yume heard the sound of the elevator opening.
“They are coming! Those Americans! Those burglars!” An old woman in a wheel chair was being held back by a doctor.
“This is the wrong floor… I’m sorry miss, don’t mind her. Her memory is a little jumbled, that’s all.” The doctor said, flashing a futile reassuring smile.
..................................................................................................................................................................................
“Staws abow-”
“Miss Negai, stop, please!” The teacher shouted, silencing the other people in the room. “I knew it was weird you came in shaking, but really? Did you have to waste my time AND the school’s precious funds just to show up to this audition today and not even nail ONE word correctly? Can’t you speak? If you think this is some kind of joke, miss Negai, then I’m afraid I can’t allow you to enter. It is not my usual policy to say this before all the results are in, but Yume Negai, you are NOT permitted to join this quire!”
An image flashed before Yume’s eyes. She was in a semi-circular stage, only illuminated by the glowing sticks and the lights in the edge. Then suddenly the lights went off before Yume was ready, she tried to improvise but ended up falling flat on her face instead, the microphone shattering into pieces, turning into dust. Confetti blew in her face, the laughter from the audience was loud, echo-ey, mean, inescapable.
“No…pwease…” Yume begged, covering her own mouth. She felt her body shrinking, and right beneath her on the stage opened a chasm. There was a bottom in sight: a garbage can full of mud, which she immediately fell into, feeling herself sink deeper and deeper into the mood even as she struggled to get out.
“I…”
“Miss Negai, not another word. Get out of this place. Disrespectful child.”
It was at this moment Yume realized something very important. In her mental image, she closed her eyes, and simply allowed herself to sink into that warm, comfy mud.
Word Count: about 1248
