Gateway to the Empyrean: Cirrocumulus 22

We all warmed up our instruments in our first practice of the new school year.

I was a second chair violinist for the group. It was surprising to me that I wasn’t behind that in terms of the rankings.

For our first piece, I waited for my part to come and I used my bow to string out a melody that matched the score.

Everything was going just perfect, but things fell flat for one second.

I guess I haven’t sharpened up on my four-string skills. I heard some laughter from some nearby students and the conductor stopped us from playing.

“Alright. Let’s hit those notes better. Back to measure twenty-five, everybody.”

I grunted and prepared myself to get it better next time.

“That’s right, Hosea. You screw-up.”

I wanted to believe it was someone else talking to me, but it was my own head that was trying to put me down.

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