When the TV Presenter and crew finished their short interview with Harry, he knew he was going to make it big. Because of the hundreds of wannabes in that queue, they'd honed in on, and singled him out. And he just knew that, that was a good sign. It meant he had 'the look,' now all he had to do was deliver the voice, which was something he had every confidence in.
Harry's mum was buzzing, "Oh. My. God. Harry – they like, LOVED you!" She gushed, thrusting out her chest to proudly display her 'HARRY' T-shirt that she'd made especially for the event. She also noted the envious eyes of the other wannabes in the queue, but of course, her eyes were only for Harry. She basked in love and pride, especially as only days before she'd been in hospital recovering from the shock of being told her pride and joy was dead.
Walking onto the stage, Harry felt like he was walking on water. The expectant hum of the audience gave him a special floaty feeling that helped to give his singing a relaxed sound; which was a good thing given there was no backing track to swamp any dud notes.
He walked off the stage and into the next round of competition with a confident stride. And when he overheard one girl in the crowd exclaim, "Isn't he lovely!" He knew he would eventually triumph.
......
The return journey home was filled with celebratory Carpool Karaoke. The singing only stopped when Harry's mum braked outside his home. The sudden silence hit Harry with an unexpected blast of doubt, "I will make it, won't I mum?" He asked.
She looked at him, "Don't ever doubt it," she replied, opening the car door.
But then she flinched, and her face grimaced alarmingly, "What is it, mum?"
"That smell," she exclaimed, the palm of her hand hovering over her nose.
"What smell?" Asked Harry.
She stepped out of the car, warily, "You mean you can't smell it?"
Harry jumped out and inhaled, "I can't smell anything," he said.
Approaching the front door to her home, Harry's mum pinched her nose whilst she put the key in the door, bewildered as to why he couldn't detect the sickening stench.
On opening the door, she gagged and turned violently to avoid the swarm of flies that rushed her, "Harry, if you can't smell that, there's something wrong with you – it must be those chicken breasts – I must of forgot to throw them out – be a darling – go in and open all the windows and empty the bin – you know how sensitive I am to bad smells," she said, desperately trying not to projectile vomit.
Harry couldn't smell anything bad, and it was with a bewildered head that he entered his kitchen. "How'd the audition go, mate?" Asked Ian.
"WHOAH!" Harry jumped at the sight of his friend, who was grotesquely bloated with flies feasting and breeding in his eyes, nose and mouth.
"How come I can't smell you?" Asked Harry, making no effort to disguise his disgust at the sight of his friend.
When Ian opened his mouth to talk, flies flew out, revealing a seething mass of writhing maggots inside his oral cavity.
"If you'd have read the fine print before you signed the deal on the other side, you'd know that as a 'Souled' you can see and converse with me, but not smell me. My smell's reserved for mortal folk, like your mum, who's probably spewing up outside, right now," he explained.
Harry opened the back door, "Get out, I'll meet you at the end of the street for a talk," he said, opening all the windows and spraying lemon scented kitchen detergent into the air. Only when he was sure that Ian's smell was gone, did he call his mum back in.
