Stage fright

ೃ༄ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒  ͟͟͞͞· · · ✦ 

『▸ Imposter syndrome

『▸ Panic attack

Commissioned from Rueka for $10 usd

▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂

Oh god, oh god, oh god ohgodohgodohgod.

He thought he was ready for tonight, that all the mental preparation would work but fuck was he wrong, so fucking wrong, clutching his guitar Isaac swallows down the bile that had gathered at the back of his throat.

He's on in about five minutes.

Five minutes until everyone's going to see what a fraud he is, how much of a failure he is, whatever luck that was keeping him from sounding like absolute shit is going to run out and he's going to sound terrible.

Oh god what happens if the microphone cuts out? He'll be the joke of the entire show! It doesn't matter how good or bad he is if the microphone cuts out.

What if his guitar string breaks?

What if he tuned his guitar badly and now it's out of tune?

What if, what if, what if?

His fur stands on end as he grips his guitar, compulsively re-tuning it to be sure that yes the guitar is in tune and yes it sounds fine. Okay what if he brought the wrong notebook and he makes a fool of himself because who brings the wrong notebook to a concert?

He hurriedly flicks through the pages and let's out an audible sigh of relief when he realises that yes, he brought the right notebook, and yes everything that he needs is in it. 

Isaac then gets up and starts to compulsively pace the floor of the backstage area, no doubt annoying those currently backstage. The person on right now sounds wonderful, like an angel even, he can't match up to that.

Eventually his name is called out and he cannot help the sheer dread that enters the pits of his stomach, he's going to fail, it's going to sound terrible, everyone's going to laugh or boo him or both and he's never ever going to sing again because he sounds terrible and anyone who thinks otherwise clearly needs their ears checked.

It takes him a moment to shyly skitter across the stage, tail between his legs, his body betraying the sheer anxiety he's currently faced with. There are so many people, he didn't think there'd be this many people, so many beedy little eyes watching his every move, judging his every move. So many staring eyes that make him feel so very small in comparison.

Sitting himself down on the stool Isaac closes his eyes and expects it to break under the combined weight of him and his guitar, except it doesn't. He lets out an audible sigh of relief before setting up his little notebook and strums out a gentle tune on his trusty guitar. Isaac expects one of the strings to break around now, except none of them do, so far so good then.

Isaac takes a deep breath and then begins to sing, slowly, ever so slowly does the world around him fade away, his sole focus honing onto the strings of his guitar and the notes of his voice. There's no longer those judging stares, rather in their place are the watchful eyes of his friends, his fans, people who genuinely enjoy listening to him sing.

For this moment in time that's his to cherish and his alone, Isaac can be himself, sing his heart out, and no one will judge him, no one will think he sounds stupid, no one will boo or laugh at him.

For this brief moment the world is his stage and he's playing the leading role.