By Mustafa Sajid
I rolled my eyes, an amused smile gracing my features, noticing the trembling figure beside me, his skin pasty white. He fidgeted continuously in his seat clutching his speech tightly in his hands. The demon within me danced in mirth, feeding on his lack of self-esteem. My own speech was smoothly tucked into the breast pocket of my shirt. The two ‘Best Speaker’ certificates decorating my bedroom wall gave me all the confidence I needed. I sighed when I heard the familiar clattering of teeth and patted Ahmed’s back reassuringly.
When I heard my name, I stood up, and with a confident smirk walked gracefully up to the stage remembering my predecessor and his little stumble while on his way back. My teacher was worried, recalling my lack of practice once again and I knitted my eyebrows in annoyance. I placed both hands on either side of the rostrum, coughed, clearing my throat and opened my mouth. Nothing. I searched the inner depths of my traitorous mind for something, anything, but all I heard was the demon doubled over in laughter. I felt panic swoop over me as I open and close my mouth with a blank expression on my face. A thousand eyes peer at me from below. The hall is silent and then from the left corner a laughter erupts. And it spreads like a wildfire across the hall. I feel my cheeks burn and clench and unclench my hands and then I run. Right then, the worst possible thing happens and I stumble and fall and everyone goes silent.
Right now, I could be found sitting in the nurse’s office, Ahmed beside me patting my forearm reassuringly, a purplish-blue bruise already forming on my left cheek. I don’t look at him in the eyes, embarrassed, hurt. I mentally kick myself in the head and in the arm for good measure for succumbing to the imp's devious and clever tricks. I don’t hear “it” anymore. All is silent inside. And then I realize that the demon was me. My creation, My “confidence”, My “ego”. I rub my temples and sigh. I take out my speech and open it carefully. I gaze at the words written in blue ink, recalling my own younger self five years ago standing on the stage for my first ever debate. I rip the paper in half and then in quarters. Satisfied, I drop the abused scraps of paper, watching them fall onto the tiled floor. I feel my lips curl slightly upwards, promising my self to never become influenced by my ego. I stand up and walk towards the door and reach forward for the door knob.
With a twist I open the door, now mentally prepared to face the humiliation and mockery that was inevitable.
The writer is an A'levels student from Lahore Grammar School.
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| Stage Fright by Peppermint-Demise on deviantart |
I rolled my eyes, an amused smile gracing my features, noticing the trembling figure beside me, his skin pasty white. He fidgeted continuously in his seat clutching his speech tightly in his hands. The demon within me danced in mirth, feeding on his lack of self-esteem. My own speech was smoothly tucked into the breast pocket of my shirt. The two ‘Best Speaker’ certificates decorating my bedroom wall gave me all the confidence I needed. I sighed when I heard the familiar clattering of teeth and patted Ahmed’s back reassuringly.
When I heard my name, I stood up, and with a confident smirk walked gracefully up to the stage remembering my predecessor and his little stumble while on his way back. My teacher was worried, recalling my lack of practice once again and I knitted my eyebrows in annoyance. I placed both hands on either side of the rostrum, coughed, clearing my throat and opened my mouth. Nothing. I searched the inner depths of my traitorous mind for something, anything, but all I heard was the demon doubled over in laughter. I felt panic swoop over me as I open and close my mouth with a blank expression on my face. A thousand eyes peer at me from below. The hall is silent and then from the left corner a laughter erupts. And it spreads like a wildfire across the hall. I feel my cheeks burn and clench and unclench my hands and then I run. Right then, the worst possible thing happens and I stumble and fall and everyone goes silent.
Right now, I could be found sitting in the nurse’s office, Ahmed beside me patting my forearm reassuringly, a purplish-blue bruise already forming on my left cheek. I don’t look at him in the eyes, embarrassed, hurt. I mentally kick myself in the head and in the arm for good measure for succumbing to the imp's devious and clever tricks. I don’t hear “it” anymore. All is silent inside. And then I realize that the demon was me. My creation, My “confidence”, My “ego”. I rub my temples and sigh. I take out my speech and open it carefully. I gaze at the words written in blue ink, recalling my own younger self five years ago standing on the stage for my first ever debate. I rip the paper in half and then in quarters. Satisfied, I drop the abused scraps of paper, watching them fall onto the tiled floor. I feel my lips curl slightly upwards, promising my self to never become influenced by my ego. I stand up and walk towards the door and reach forward for the door knob.
With a twist I open the door, now mentally prepared to face the humiliation and mockery that was inevitable.
The writer is an A'levels student from Lahore Grammar School.