Wednesday, September 21, 2005

Ghostopia, Chapter 60: Kat's Story, Part Five

(Part Three Of An Ongoing Series: Here's another shameless plug for my much-hyped October feature, be sure you don't miss it for the life of you! And do get set for a record low of posts in a month for September, barring a last-minute avalanche. On to the story!)

"Well, here we are." A rickety blue car pulled up in front of Mr. Rogers' lavish mansion. Mrs. Williams pecked Katrina on the cheek and brushed aside her fringe. "Go make them proud of you, dear."
She nodded solemnly and got down, double-checking to make sure she left none of her notes behind. The phone call yesterday was still very vivid and troubling; so much so she hadn't practised for today as much as she should have.
Her mom had also noticed that she wasn't her usual self last night, however all questions were brushed away with a casual "I'm okay". Katrina had wanted to tell her about it, but she wasn't sure how.
"Mom, Dad called and he said he would kill me if I went for the rehearsal."
"Mom, Dad doesn't think it's a good idea if I became famous and started dissing him in public."
"Call the police, Mom! Dad won't let me play the piano!"
The more she repeated them to herself, the more ridiculous it seemed. Furthermore, her mom was troubled enough to be burdened by stuff like that.

"Try that last part again. It sounded awfully weird."
Katrina scowled to herself and repeated the final stanza. The kids started singing, but were stopped halfway by the conductor, a surly old lady by the name of Mrs. Yates.
"No, no, no," she shook her head vehemently. "Too fast. Pay attention!"
Katrina let out a very audible sigh of displeasure. Mrs. Yates' sharp ears caught it and she glared daggers at her, making her play again. However, her mind just wasn't into it. It sounded bad and she knew it.
Mrs. Yates shook her head once more.
"It's okay," Mr. Rogers said, visibly tired. "We'll continue next Sunday. Good job, everyone."
Katrina felt like the proverbial fool wanting to dig a hole and hide in it, trying very hard to not bang the piano keys in frustration. Why didn't anything go right today? Somehow she just could not hear the melodies in her head. Her mind was wandered and restless, and the lack of practice told.

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