I’m Not Worried
I hated the way he stood. I hated his new wood smell and his chestnut colored body. “He’s too fresh,” I told the others. “I’m not worried.”
But then the boss took him to practice and left me in the closet. It meant nothing, I told myself. I might be older and rough around the edges with some dings here and there, but I was solid. The boss and I made beautiful music together. I wasn’t worried.
But then opening night came and I found myself alone backstage. I could hear his sound and I knew my time was over.
100 words for the always awesome and inspiring Friday Fictioneers!