IN THE NEAR FUTURE...
Marcus glares at the CD on his desk, feeling an irritation he knows oh so well growing inside of him. Another demo. The chance of it not being shitty? Two percent. As the head of the Do-Re-Mi record label, Marcus secretly lives for the day when these no-talent hacks will get brains. In spite of this, Marcus knows without a doubt: he's going to suffer from a tortured, extremely slow death.
He resentfully picks it up, looking at the label's description—Jessica Lynn?! A name preppy beyond reason. Any bimbo who chose such an alias has no business signing with them. Seriously, come on. If you want to be a beach-bottle blonde pop star, then make the American Idol viewers listen to you bleat like a sheep; because Marcus has much more productive things to do. Things that don't include making his ears bleed.
Marcus sighs, rubbing his temples. He can already feel a headache coming on. Nevertheless, he might as well listen to it, seeing as the piece of shit somehow managed to make it into his office. Marcus gets up, sluggishly going to the stereo. He pops the disc in and then settles back down into his chair, listening as the machine hums smoothly. He's preparing himself when the disc whirs into place. He holds his breath, crosses his fingers, and waits for horrendous noises to pour out of his speakers...
Luckily for Marcus, he's about to have a two percent kind of day.
*** To everyone who does take the chance to read this story, I want to say how much I truly appreciate you reading my writing and spending some time with the characters who have had such a profound effect on me as a writer. I like to think that even though this story is over, they live on in the land of fiction.
Thank you so much for your time. I hope you enjoyed the ride.❣️***
YOU ARE READING
Crescendo
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