Mister Bump UK

The Voice

200ish words (1 – 2 minutes)

I steal behind the wings, and study the competitor currently on stage. Young. My age. Beautiful. Perfect. And, what a voice!

…And I will always love you…

Exactly as Whitney Houston had sung it. Better, perhaps. She owns the stage.

She stands boldly in a shimmering emerald cocktail dress, worn provocatively off-the-shoulder. With a perfect coiffure, not a single blonde hair out of place, and just the right amount of golden bling, she oozes confidence. Beige tights, and knee-length black boots complete the ensemble.

… Bittersweet memories,
That is all I’m taking with me…

She’s killing them. To rapturous applause, one by one, the judges’ chairs fizz around like Catherine wheels on Bonfire Night. A runaway success, she exits the stage in euphoric joy!

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Her immaculate performance temporarily masks my own nervousness, but now she is out of the way, my appearance beckons.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, please welcome SULE BENJAMIN.” I had figured an anglicised version of my name would be easier for people to remember.

Amid deafening applause, I step beyond the screen, and begin walking towards the sweet-spot at the front of the stage. The studio is full. There must be thirty-rows-worth of expectant audience out there, not to mention the intimidating judges who lurk behind that imposing flight-deck of charcoal seats. Trying desperately to focus, I remember, at least, to smile as my backing music starts.

And then I run.

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Published by Mister Bump UK

In 2016, I suffered a stroke, a pivotal moment in life. Overnight, I went from being a fit, avid cyclist, who designed IT systems in both London and New York, to being semi-paralysed and barely able to walk. Needing to re-invent myself, I learned to type again, one-fingered, and taught myself to write, creatively. I'm working on my second novel, and tinker with my blog on the side. I live peacefully in a small, rural corner of southern England, happily divorced with a grown / flown daughter.

14 comments

  4. Wimbledon Town Hall many years ago, family in the audience, amateur dramatics, one of three ‘leading roles’ – for a moment I wasn’t sure where I was up to in the script. I hadn’t lost the plot, but I said to myself in that long moment ‘I’m never ever going to do this again!’ And I never did, can’t even remember why my teenage self thought I wanted to go into acting. Standing on a stage solo is my idea of a nightmare…

    Clever tale.

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