Page 53 - Contrast1988Spring

The most wretched of them all though,
are the likes of me;
those who assumed a trip to paradise,
God spat on my soul.

Ron Ferguson

Fear 49

The room is black
Except for a blazing white light from above
And a tiny dim light in the distance.
Threatening.
She stands alone. Terrified.
Shattering the still silence,
A voice booms from the dim light. ..
"From the top."
She cringes; her stomach tightens.
She stares at the white paper
Trembling in her hands.
The words blur together.
She stutters; starts again.
BLOCK IT OUT, her mind screams.
She takes a step. The boards beneath her
Creak in protest.
This time, she gets through it.
The dim light mutters
"Thank you."
She promises herself, AGAIN,
That this would be her last
Audition.

Mary T. Baschoff

Contrast Spring 1988