Story Excerpts

Ashe, excerpt 2

"And before we reveal the champions of tonight's competition, we do have some honorary mentions, a few performances that did blow the audience's away but fell just short of the top performances."
Ashe was going to be sick just from the nerves of being forced to wait, having to stand patiently and listen to this boring old man drone on and on before he can find out where he falls in terms of winning.
"Alexander Warton, Danielle Trubec, Sonya..."
How many honorary mentions could there be? It wasn't the largest competition out there, only about 70 other people in his group to win against this year, and quite frankly none of the others seemed to be remotely close to how spectacular he had been.
(Patience, young one. Your moment will arrive.)
"I don't want to be patient." Ashe whispered, his lips barely moving, though he was still just audible enough to receive a sharp look from his trainer, indicating that he should shut up.
"And now, we move on to our finalists!"
(Here we go.)
He hated the purr in that wretched voice. Like somehow it was taunting him, even though it was the only friend he could have.
"I know that our judges had a really hard time deciding between these three outstanding performances, and I know we're all very excited to know, just remember that we save our clapping for the very end, please snap your fingers as I call out names."
If the next sentence out of his mouth wasn't the third place winner, Ashe was going to scream.
(Patience is a virtue.)
"Coming in third place, we have Blake White!"
A round of careful snapping from the audience as a contestant to Ashe's left took a steep breath, heading up to the podium, standing on the third tiered step and accepting the medal placed around his neck.
It was so close. Ashe could feel moths in his chest and throat, his fingers and toes were tingling with excitement, he was going to be a champion again, he had the whole thing in the bag.
"In second place, we've got Ashe Langston!"
His breath went still in his lungs. It took his trainer nudging his arm to kick him into motion, he was supposed to go to the stage. The snapping in the crowd sounded like one of those rain sticks his grandmother had, but the cackling laughter that echoed in his skull drowned that out in seconds as he placed himself on the second tier step, a second place medal being placed around his neck, a weight he did not want.
(Second place, my child, is just first place for failure.)
Why did it sound so disappointed? He had still made the top three!
(Stop scowling, pretty people don't scowl. Straighten your spine, put your shoulders back, chin high. You are going to train and train and train until you can do this routine in your sleep.)
He didn't want to listen to the voice anymore. He could still have his moment of fame.
Another boy took the center tier, the first place medal sitting pretty against his chest. Maybe if he tore the thing from his wretched neck, he would feel like he'd accomplished something.
(You all have to go backstage together for photos after this. Just wait until nobody is looking, nobody will suspect you. Smile for the cameras, Asheton.)
He let his face split into a smile, cute and warm like he always practiced in the mirrors. The audience exploded in raucous applause, cameras flashing, and for those few moments, that familiar feeling rose in his chest, he was still in the spotlight, they still loved him, he was still worthy of the praise he was getting. Every nerve in his body was crackling with electrical current, and he had to take a deep breath to calm it. He couldn't let himself get out of hand. Not in such a public place, especially considering the amount of cameras.
(Don't worry about the cameras, my child. They can be tampered with.)
Ashe shut the voice out entirely. He'd find a way to get his revenge. He had a long car ride to contemplate it.