The Musical War

With my fiddle in hand, I looked determinedly toward the door of our practice room. Then I shifted my gaze on Lottie, my sister, who would be accompanying me on guitar.

“Are you ready?”

“Yep,” she answered, her jaw tightly clenched.

The room behind the stage was painted black as death. “How very fitting,” I whispered under my breath.

Lottie and I shakily collapsed onto some stools in the corner of the room. I would be the third contestant, and as the second fiddler went onstage, I began to get desperate. I almost wished that some awful thing would happen so that we wouldn’t have to go onstage and play our pieces. I glanced at Lottie. She was slightly quivering, but she still seemed to be much more composed than I was.

“Are you nervous?” I asked her, trying to forget that we were the next ones up.

“A little,” she murmured, gazing into space. The girl onstage played music that seemed to drag on and on; meanwhile, I was becoming so tight and tense I thought I would burst.

Suddenly, I could hear the crowd applauding, and contestant number two had entered the backstage room. My heart beat faster with every second, but then I thought, We are going to war.

I dutifully stood up, and my sister followed. I grimly set my jaw and marched onto the stage, my uniform a flowered dress. The bright spotlights were blinding, and I stood dazed while the booming voice of the announcer told everyone the tunes I would be playing.

Then I shouldered arms, which were a fiddle and bow, and began to fight. I battled my fear. I fought my nervousness. I played the songs my very best, better than I ever had before and probably better than I ever will again.

And then, it was over. I had done it. I beamed and glided off the stage with Lottie following behind me. My relieved body giddily sank back down onto the stool, and I sighed with happiness. The competition was over. We had won the war.