‘Well,’ says the shiny suited announcer, ‘this is the moment we have all been waiting for. The votes have been counted and verified and I can confirm the winner, who will receive a 5 year recording contract, is….’
I squint into the audience, blinded equally by the spotlights and the judging panels teeth. Spectators hold their breath, hands grip each other tightly. Who will win? Will it be the one they have supported and voted for? Am I their favourite? It means such a lot to them. I have given my best performance tonight, I am confident of that.
I glance at the other semi finalist. Sweat beads on her forehead, hands clenched tightly by her sides as she sways slightly. I hope she doesn’t faint during overdramatic tv pause. It means such a lot to her.
What does it mean to me though? How would the accolade of being the nation’s winner change things? I would have an album out by the end of the year. Possibly a tour. I envisage myself being mobbed wherever I go, recording music I don’t like to a crowd who doesn’t appreciate the real me.
My heart hammers as the presenter touches his ear lightly, acknowledging the result coming through.
My nan used to say ‘be careful what you wish for’. I never understood what that meant until now.
Clutching my guitar and my dignity I run.
Written for Sunday Photo Fiction. A story of around 200 words inspired by a photo prompt.