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A Dream Come True…..or is it?
Our long-suffering heroine took a stroll home, her mind completely lost in thought. A vision of the earlier events that took place in the bayhroom played out in her mind. She sighed, wondering if a normal would ever be an option.
She dragged her feet along the cobbled streets, her face grimy and uniform in tatters. Several of her classmates who had witnessed the one-sided altercation between herself and Naomi the almighty stopped in their tracks.
“Isn’t it the soundless mouse?” they whispered amongst themselves. The air of selfish curiosity was pervasive. These onlookers strolled by, leaving Anne to her
own helpless devices on the pavement.
By what could only be described as a miracle, Anne managed to make her way to her bedroom. The rakish little girl fell into bed, exhaustion taking her almost completely over. The image of the Idol logo consumed her mind.
Ann tipped her head below her bed so that she could gaze at the contents under it. She tugged open the lid of a little box and pulled out a score aptly titled The Impossible Dream.
“Just great,” Ann grimaced. The thought of a lost cause drew a sign from her.
She hummed the chords of the piece, knowing that only the four walls surrounding her could or would ever listen.
And in the ring is....
Ringside events were so commonplace at dinner that they were a given to Ann. Meals always ended in either a verbal or physical brawl, one which Ann always lost. And, of course, the ever-revered Pugnacion was certain to be part of them.
That evening was no different.
“Ann, you forgot Pugnacion’s Manuka Honey again!” Mrs Lark’s ugly shriek reverberated through their fatalistic (Gothic-black curtåins graced eve4y window), grotesque home.
Ann knew what was coming. She braced herself for the worst that her mother could do (and usually did.).
“Go to your room,’ Mrs Lark pointed imperiously in the direction of Ann’s impossibly tiny mouse-hole. A malevolent leer covered her too-thin face.
Ann sighed. Mrs Lark had given the jar of honey in question to a neighbour but was in no mood for p®otests or explanations. To protest would only mean staying inside for a week instead of five days. Dragging her little feet up the rickety stairs, she went in and shut the door gently behind her.
Ann found solace in the weekly music lessons she has with Ms Igtune. The gentle teacher was a fountain of knowledge when it came to the piano and vocals, which were up Ann’s alley. With her long brown locks and girl-next-door demeanour, she looked unassuming, yet attractive.
Music was the only time Ann could be herself. She took the chance to show off her voice and sing with abandon, something the teacher encouraged
“You really should consider participating in Thunder Idol,” said Ms Igtune. “Don’t let your talent go to waste..” the soft-spoken teacher prompted unabashedly.
Gentle as she was, Ms Ingtune, armed with double degrees in Fine Arts and Music, was no stranger to performers or performing, She was instrumental in organizing these yearly shows.
“There’s no point in that,” Ann shook her head, which was heavy with sadness.
“Ms Ingtune raised her eyebrows. “Oh? Why so?”
Ann maintained a stoic silence. “Popularity wins.” Her answer was tinged with sadness.
Ms Ingtune gazed at her for a long while. “Why? Are you not popular enough?’”
Ann sighed. “Ms Ingtune, I tell you everything. You know why I said that.”
Ms Ingtune gave her a knowing nod.. She walked to the window of the music room and stared outside for what seemed like Infinity. Before finally saying,
“Fame should not be for just the well-heeled. Everyone deserves a turn in the spotlight, including you.” She resolutely to a chest of drawers at the back of the room and pulled out the piece of paper. “Promise me that you will think about getting this up,”
Ann grabbed the paper out of her hand music with a resigned sigh.
Perhaps being in this meaningless talent show would finally tell Ms Ingtune how futile the participation would be.
To Boldly Go Where no Ann has been Before
The form in front of Ann brought trepidation. A breach of the rules of Naomi Beach would be dire. Breaking them, however, was a must if she were to fulfil her dreams. It was the proverbial forbidden fruit.
Ann grabbed a pen and tossed it between her hands. Then, she put it down. Registering would bring Naomi and her gang down to her almost instantly. But being able to work on a pet project was better than being stuck at home with Pugnacious Pugnacion. The thought of clearing up just one more puddle of obnoxious baby vomit was not pleasant.
Come, Naomi would. But to borrow a wildly popular phrase, Ann had to go where she had never gone before, or Pugnacion would be a fixed feature.