Speak to the Grave.

~ 1 ~

I took a deep breath. I get nervous. A lot actually.

Just the thought of stepping up on stage makes me go all jittery and feel not butterflies, but rats down my stomach.

It's like they're scurrying down my stomach and make me wanna shrink into something small and just get away before anyone notices.

Half breathless, I got on to the stage. Once I got up there, I raised my head and found some several head staring me down. They all had stern expressions.

It's like they already knew I wasn't good enough. Oh how I hated being judged.

I held the mic and was about to start, when I found my friend urging me to hold the mic closer so I could be heard well.

It was something I liked. Music. Although, I enjoyed it, the fact that I had to do it in front of many people made me feel numbed.

It's like I'm great at home. I keep humming to myself and other stuff, but when it comes to performing, it's like suddenly I'm bad at it.

All fears come and knock up your skull. They tear it down till you've embarrassed yourself enough.

Then, it's no use recovering. The damage is done.

I pulled the mike a little closer and started. I felt shaky. Everything was going shaky.

Even my voice. I wanted to stop and tear my throat down, and just die there. Not return. To nowhere.

I went on, my volume decreasing every moment. I wanted just stop and run down the stairs.

I took some breath and tried increasing my volume, and this time, it sounded better. Atleast the wobble stopped.

My confidence catching up a little, my volume increased. I felt relieved for a moment, but then.  I caught a man giving me the most ridiculous look ever.

My mind gelled out. Oh, it isn't good, is it? I felt like complete shit.

That man had judged my skills and now a few thousand people know, that this girl, named Sara, with extreme anxiety, is a dumbass who's wasting their time.

I felt like I'd been slapped. I stopped in between. I'd only finished three- fourths the song.

Now, more eyes were staring at me beady- eyed like I was a craphead.

My friend gasped and showed me all possible signs, to make me continue.

She waved her hand frantically and showed me some thumbs- ups. She even got up and tried running up to the stage.

But I walked my way out of the stage, streaming with tears.

I felt everything leaky. My nose, my eyes, myself. I'm just a huge pothole on the road. That's all I'm worth. To be run over. To make other people unstable too.

My friend tried yanking back up the stairs to the stage. But I was in no state to continue my singing.

I slowly walked up to the washroom to look a horrible mess.

I'm a mess. I found all my make- up smudged. I looked like a joker. And a loser.

Sasha walked up to me and hugged me and I slumped on the floor. I cried silently. I felt angry. I was mostly an angry crier.

"It's fine.." she said "..it happens."

"Not to others." I cried

"Actually, it does."

I whimpered and cried more. And then I received a heart- warming hug.

I stood up and stumbled onto the commode and took a huge puke.

"Whoaa...the heck's WRONG with you?" asked Sasha.

I just wiped away everything and walked to wash my face.

I washed my face thoroughly and all the black smears disappeared.

I made my way home, as i thought about what a loser I was.

Once I reached, I immediately crashed.

I woke up to a chilly morning. As I rubbed my hands, I made some coffee.

After some coffee, I felt refreshed and made some breakfast.

I felt extremely full after breakfast and quickly packed my bag and geared up for school.

I took a deep breath and stepped out. I was early. By an hour.

I sighed and looked down and found the newspaper.

A fifteen minutes won't do any harm. I'm anyways early.

I grabbed the newspaper and read on. My eyes scanned quickly over the first page and then I flipped to the next page.

I quickly kept scanning the pages and flipping them, when something caught my eye.

It was the obituary. I stared hard at a man's photo. It felt like he was extremely familiar.

After some frantic thought I rolled my eyes and flipped the page.

Ugh. He's dead anyways. Who cares.

After flipping the last page and scanning it, I stood up.

I walked out the house and checked my watch to find I had only five minutes left.

I slapped myself hard on the forehead and rushed to school.

I was relieved to find my friend was late too.

"You're late." said our English teacher.

"Sorry." I said and proceeded to my seat as I felt all my classmates staring me down.

How I hated being watched by a few hundred eyes.

The day proceeded and when I returned home, I felt exhausted. Like so fricking much.

I slept for eleven hours and woke up extremely late.

Great. Late again.

I groaned and rushed to school, and put that familiar face to the back of my mind. Atleast for the next week. And that, was a mistake. A very huge one, infact.

A blunder, I would put it.