Today I am sharing my first attempt at fiction, a short story about a recital. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous sharing this, but I really want to grow as a writer. Let me know what you think.


It was a stormy night. The sea was rough. The waves furiously smashed against the rocks. I laid in bed listening to the storm and sea. Tonight was great, and this was the best way to wind down.

The recital hall was packed. This was it. I’ve worked so hard for the past four years, and it all came down to this. An hour of performing was all that stood between being a student and becoming a graduate. The lights dimmed. The hall was silent. I walked out on stage.

My accompanist started to play. One deep breath, and I began. In that first solo, I was very technical, insistently counting and perfecting each and every note. Sweat beaded on my forehead. I cherished that last note a minute and ended. There was a slight, deafening moment of silence, then applause. I felt the tension in my upper body ease. I got this.

I continued on. I felt strong and lost myself in the music. Before I knew it, I was taking my final bow. More applause. What a rush – and a relief.

After praise from my professors and fellow students, I got in my car. There was lightning in the distance, and a few fat raindrops hit the windshield. I hurried back to my family’s seaside home.

First, a hot shower. My sweat and anxiety washed down the drain. Then bed. The storm and sea lulled me to sleep. Tomorrow I wake up a graduate.

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