Taking A Chance
Mar. 25th, 2007 01:17 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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tamingthemuseTitle: Taking A Chance
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
spikespetslayer
Fandom: None
Rating: PG for language
Summary: Sometimes, we need to grab the chances we've got and try, even if we might fail.
A/N: I got held over a bit at work tonight...dang sick people!
Thud…thwack…snap.
Thud…thwack…snap.
“how many times have I told you not to bounce that fucking ball against the wall? I’m trying to watch television!”
the sound barely penetrated the rage in his mind as he stopped for a second then bounced the ball again.
Fucking parents. Fucking girlfriend. Fucking school, fucking friends, fucking life.
He hated his life right now.
All he’d ever wanted to do was sing. It wasn’t like he didn’t have a decent voice; he had a fantastic voice, if he believed everything that the chorus teachers had told him for years. Mention trying for something that could possible make him famous and they laughed at him. Laughed. Bastards.
It wasn’t like he’d never sung in front of anyone before. He’s been in the school musical every year—in fact, last year he’d sung the lead. He felt good about his talent. He felt good about himself until they had all started making fun of him.
He bounced the tennis ball a little harder, feeling the sting as it hit his hand. He had the balls to get up on the stage and show them his stuff. Not like some people that he could think of…like his friends. Hell, Carl could sing him under the table in any karaoke he wanted, but did he have the gumption to get up in front of strangers to take the chance at being a star? Not no, but hell no.
He was going for it. He was going for it no matter what they said.
He let the ball drop from his hand and began going through the reams of sheet music that he had bought with his own money. This was good…that one was shit…he could do this one…with every page, his hope grew deep within his heart, taking root and sprouting until he thought his chest would burst from the pressure.
He went through his closet, tossing clothes into the canvas bag that he carried his gym clothes in when he was playing basketball. This wasn’t that hard. All it takes is a little guts and a lot of talent, which he had in spades. A way there—he would take his car and drive to the city tonight, while everyone slept. He would sleep on the street with the other hopefuls, wait for the doors to open in the morning so he could get up there and show his stuff.
A twinge of doubt shadowed his mind and he pushed it aside, looking for his good shirt. He was good enough, wasn’t he? Why not? If that idiot William Hung could get up there and make a fool of himself, then why not me? The fear of failure tore at his gut for a moment, making him double over and clutch at his stomach.
If he didn’t make the cut, they would be right.
He would just have to make sure that he did make the cut.
He waited in silence, the ball gripped in his sweating hand, until the television went off for the night and he heard his parents snoring in their comfortable bed. There were advantages to thin walls sometimes. He threw the bag out the window, climbed out behind it, and carried it to the ancient Nova in the driveway.
Grunting and straining, he pushed it down the drive until it was on the highway, at least a good quarter mile or so. He jumped in the driver’s seat and revved the engine before he took one last look at the house where he’d lived since he was a kid.
This was his turning point. If he made it, it was a chance to change his path completely. If he didn’t…well, if he didn’t, at least he tried. At least he could tell his kids someday that he’d had the guts to try out for the television show that could have made him a star.
With a smile, he tossed the tennis ball in the floorboard on the passenger side, turned the radio up loud, and sang as he drove into the night.
Author:
spikespetslayerFandom: None
Rating: PG for language
Summary: Sometimes, we need to grab the chances we've got and try, even if we might fail.
A/N: I got held over a bit at work tonight...dang sick people!
Thud…thwack…snap.
Thud…thwack…snap.
“how many times have I told you not to bounce that fucking ball against the wall? I’m trying to watch television!”
the sound barely penetrated the rage in his mind as he stopped for a second then bounced the ball again.
Fucking parents. Fucking girlfriend. Fucking school, fucking friends, fucking life.
He hated his life right now.
All he’d ever wanted to do was sing. It wasn’t like he didn’t have a decent voice; he had a fantastic voice, if he believed everything that the chorus teachers had told him for years. Mention trying for something that could possible make him famous and they laughed at him. Laughed. Bastards.
It wasn’t like he’d never sung in front of anyone before. He’s been in the school musical every year—in fact, last year he’d sung the lead. He felt good about his talent. He felt good about himself until they had all started making fun of him.
He bounced the tennis ball a little harder, feeling the sting as it hit his hand. He had the balls to get up on the stage and show them his stuff. Not like some people that he could think of…like his friends. Hell, Carl could sing him under the table in any karaoke he wanted, but did he have the gumption to get up in front of strangers to take the chance at being a star? Not no, but hell no.
He was going for it. He was going for it no matter what they said.
He let the ball drop from his hand and began going through the reams of sheet music that he had bought with his own money. This was good…that one was shit…he could do this one…with every page, his hope grew deep within his heart, taking root and sprouting until he thought his chest would burst from the pressure.
He went through his closet, tossing clothes into the canvas bag that he carried his gym clothes in when he was playing basketball. This wasn’t that hard. All it takes is a little guts and a lot of talent, which he had in spades. A way there—he would take his car and drive to the city tonight, while everyone slept. He would sleep on the street with the other hopefuls, wait for the doors to open in the morning so he could get up there and show his stuff.
A twinge of doubt shadowed his mind and he pushed it aside, looking for his good shirt. He was good enough, wasn’t he? Why not? If that idiot William Hung could get up there and make a fool of himself, then why not me? The fear of failure tore at his gut for a moment, making him double over and clutch at his stomach.
If he didn’t make the cut, they would be right.
He would just have to make sure that he did make the cut.
He waited in silence, the ball gripped in his sweating hand, until the television went off for the night and he heard his parents snoring in their comfortable bed. There were advantages to thin walls sometimes. He threw the bag out the window, climbed out behind it, and carried it to the ancient Nova in the driveway.
Grunting and straining, he pushed it down the drive until it was on the highway, at least a good quarter mile or so. He jumped in the driver’s seat and revved the engine before he took one last look at the house where he’d lived since he was a kid.
This was his turning point. If he made it, it was a chance to change his path completely. If he didn’t…well, if he didn’t, at least he tried. At least he could tell his kids someday that he’d had the guts to try out for the television show that could have made him a star.
With a smile, he tossed the tennis ball in the floorboard on the passenger side, turned the radio up loud, and sang as he drove into the night.
no subject
Date: 2007-04-03 12:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-03 05:32 am (UTC)