SLUMP

Act I

The results are in.

She knows.

She knows the second her instructor travels through the circular maze of plastic chairs, towards her.

Accompanying him in his hands, is a see-through white envelope, no doubt the one she has waited for weeks.

As he nears, one of Penny's legs bounces restlessly, causing the string instrument laying on her knee to bob along in an almost distressed rhythm.

By her seat, her instructor reads the swirling font inked on the back to double-check it belonged to her, before gently setting it in the palm of her hand.

When the envelope is at the tip of her fingers, she leans forward a tad and eyes her instructor's expression for any reaction or trace of emotion, anything that could relate to the number she would receive.

When there is none, she shakingly accepts the envelope, body trembling in anticipation, and murmurs her thanks. Seated, she watches as he passes her, making his way to the other owners of an envelope.

Diverting her attention back at hand, she scratches her chipped nail over the envelope's edges, her warm breath fanning the paper. Brimming in trepidation, she unsticks the seal and reaches inside, pulling out the folded score sheet.

As she could barely contain herself, Penny discards the envelope, not recognitioning how it flutters to the matted floor and straightens the piece of paper in a rush, nearly ripping it in two. She scans the entirety of the score sheet carefully, passing other numbers and paragraphs upon paragraphs of notes the judges left for her, in order to find the one she is looking for.

At the bottom of the page, typed in bold, black ink, is the final result. And like that, her smile fades.

152.

Penny's throat clogs, breathing growing more shallow by the second. Penny's fingers crumple the paper in disbelief, her vision blurring at the ink.

152. 152. 152, the number pounds in her head like a frantic heartbeat.

She glances up, only to see her instructor was still handing out other envelopes, and spitefully, she wonders the numbers her classmates could have received. It is wrong of her to think, but she couldn't have been the only one to have scored so poor.

As she peers behind him, there are more numbers written on the white board, numbers she knows were not present earlier.

# Requirement to Pass - 192

Penny almost laughs in disbelief, the remains of her hope burning up in flames. Her number was so low, it was laughable. A gaping length of 40 points away from passing, and according to her spreadsheet, she was a weighty 100 points off from perfection.

She thinks to do the math in her head, but she doesn't, knowing the percentage would only serve to strengthen her misery.

"Hey, Penny," Penny's eyes fly up to meet the voice of a faceless boy calling her name. He turns around in his seat, levelling her gaze with concern. "Did you make it?"

Not trusting herself to speak, Penny shakes her head, to which the faceless boy sends her a look of pity. While it was meant to be comforting, if anything, it makes Penny feel worse.

As the meeting drags on, ignorant to the mixed pool of feelings of guilt and regret and sadness coursing through Penny's heart, she wishes she could control time more than anything.

Stop it. Go back. Go forward. Fix everything. But, she knows she can't. She can't change what has already come to pass. Just as she fears, the clock strikes like a blade ready to cut out her broken heart, signaling the end of the meeting.

When she steps outside into the blinding sun, the brightness scorching her eyelids, Penny dreads, the leather case in her hand growing heavier as she nears her mother's car.

Sitting in the driver's seat, was the silhouette of her mother, her back perfectly straight to the chair's frame. Before the bundle of nerves in Penny's stomach could spread, Penny crawls into the passenger seat beside her mother, calmly breathing to clear her head.

When the car door is shut and Penny is situated, seatbelt pressing into her chest and hips, she feels trapped underneath her mother's heavy gaze. Her mother's crimson-colored lips curve in a grim line, holding out her silky hand for the results. Reluctantly, Penny relinquishes the score.

Her mother unwraps the folded paper, and her coal eyes flicker slightly. To most people, her countenance may have looked like it did not change, remaining unsurprised at the outcome.

But, Penny knows there is unadulterated rage coiling underneath her mother's calculating eyes, and a hint of disappointment that makes Penny's stomach queasy. She does not flinch, head lowered, waiting for her mother's screams of wasting precious money and time, but the screams never come.

Her mother doesn't spare her Penny a glance, as if she was unrecognizable. Neatly folding the scoresheet, her mother tosses the score sheet into the backseats and drives home without a word like Penny never existed, and that action alone was like a punch to the gut, hurting worse than any spoken words.

The thought of time-control comes to mind again, and Penny wishes for time to quicken, so that her internal pain could heal and vanish. But if possible, time stretches longer and her pain only strengthens by nightfall as Penny cries herself to sleep.

By dawn, she wakes to puffy eyes and swollen cheeks. And she also wakes to find her beloved, bronze instrument gone.

***

It's been a while, Bookworms!
I've missed writing and posting y'all but IM SO EXCITED TO INTRODUCE THIS OMG ITS ABOUT TIME haha

I'mma be honest, I'm not really happy with how I've written this but after so many weeks of editing and re-writing this THREE times lol I decided to post it. Of course, I'm going to go back and continue changing this prologue cause for some reason it was so difficult for me to write, but the first chapter is still on schedule for next week's upload so look forward that hehe 

BE SURE TO COMMENT REVIEW AND VOTE YALL it makes me so happy when you do uwu

- PrettyQueen 🥰