Eh, not entirely sure where I'm going with this. Just figured I'd post what I have, and see what people think.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------It's your senior سال and your standing on the sidelines of the football field. Your back is to the opposing marching band –who currently has the field -- which means you're facing the crowd. These people (all three-hundred of them) are serious about this. They aren't like the people who go to the regional competitions. No, this is state, and the people who come to watch are very serious about this, indeed.
The موسیقی slowly draws to a close as the سیکنڈ song ends. Your دل races. Slowly, it dawns on you: this is it. This is your last high school marching band competition. All the sweat, tears, drama, aches and pains that آپ put in all سال will be put to the test.
Sweat begins to drip down your back and your hands begin to shake. آپ wonder: was it enough? آپ had felt utterly confident when آپ walked unto the track, but, now . . . The band behind آپ is tighter in their music. Their rhythm is faster and the crowd seems into it. After hearing them, after seeing the crowd, آپ begin to regret throwing away all those useful hours that could have been used for practice.
Finally, the competing band is silent. The crowd is clapping. They seem impressed, from what آپ can tell. آپ arch your neck in a futile attempt to see the judges, but they are too high up for آپ to see. آپ turn your back on the crowd and watch the band exit. They seem pleased with themselves. Your دل skitters. You've never felt that pleased when walking off the field . . . have you? آپ struggle to remember, but come up short.
Some one calls your name, grabbing your attention. You're being foolish, آپ think to yourself. Of course you've felt that pleased, آپ made it all the way to state, didn't you? How could آپ have done that if آپ weren't pleased with your performance? The fellow spinner calls your name again, مزید urgently this time. آپ only have a small amount of time to set your flags, and you've already wasted a good منٹ with your thoughts.
آپ rush around, trying to appear confident, even though your body is trembling. آپ try and seem like آپ know what you're doing, that your calm and collected, even though your mind is racing, آپ can't breath, and you've completely forgotten where your last flag lies.
Finally, you're standing on your ہیش line, on your spot. آپ bow your head, clasp your right hand into a fist behind your back while your left hand holds onto the flag at your side for dear life. It's quite. The band is at rest, waiting for the field commander to blow the whistle. No one moves. No one breaths, it seems.
Your neck begins to ache from being arched downward, and from being tensed up. Your palms are sweaty. Strands of hair have fallen out of your tight up-do. Their light flyaways, and their softness tickles your nose as they swish around in the breeze. آپ want to badly to اقدام them, but آپ can't. If آپ اقدام before that whistle blows, آپ lose points.
Finally. Finally, after what seems like hours, the shrill sound of the whistle cuts through the silence. آپ snap to attention: head raised, flag brought straight up in front of you. Your right hand snaps up, grabbing unto the flag, positioning itself correctly above your left hand.
The band begins to march. They file past you, taking their places on the field. The commander raises her arms, the band raises their instruments, and the موسیقی begins. Instantly, you're lost. Lost in the music, lost in the steps, the tosses, twirls, spins, lunges. Your brain is on autopilot, naturally moving through the choreography that has been drilled into your brain for the past eleven months.
And then... it's over. The last toss has been caught, the last note has been played. It's done.
Tears well in your eyes. It's over. Not just the song, not just the competition, but your career in the high school marching band. No matter band camp, no مزید fighting with the drum-line. No مزید re-working routines to fit around the bands movements. No مزید late night practices. No مزید picking out uniforms. No مزید spin-offs to raise money for the team. No مزید pep talks from the band teacher. No مزید taking pain and anger and stress out on the flag. No مزید anything.
As آپ march off the field, out of sight of the judges, all of the seniors gather together. It's not an intended thing – you're all just dragging your feet, not quite ready to walk away from the field. Everyone's crying. Some are openly sobbing. آپ all stop, all at once, and huddle into a circle. آپ all put your arms around each other, all pull in close. There aren't words – they aren't needed. Everyone's well aware that this is a big stepping point. But, strangely, you're suddenly comforted. And the girl who'd been sobbing starts to laugh.
It maybe over, but it's not over just for you. There are others, right there with you. You're in it together. You're not alone. And that makes it just a little مزید bearable.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------It's your senior سال and your standing on the sidelines of the football field. Your back is to the opposing marching band –who currently has the field -- which means you're facing the crowd. These people (all three-hundred of them) are serious about this. They aren't like the people who go to the regional competitions. No, this is state, and the people who come to watch are very serious about this, indeed.
The موسیقی slowly draws to a close as the سیکنڈ song ends. Your دل races. Slowly, it dawns on you: this is it. This is your last high school marching band competition. All the sweat, tears, drama, aches and pains that آپ put in all سال will be put to the test.
Sweat begins to drip down your back and your hands begin to shake. آپ wonder: was it enough? آپ had felt utterly confident when آپ walked unto the track, but, now . . . The band behind آپ is tighter in their music. Their rhythm is faster and the crowd seems into it. After hearing them, after seeing the crowd, آپ begin to regret throwing away all those useful hours that could have been used for practice.
Finally, the competing band is silent. The crowd is clapping. They seem impressed, from what آپ can tell. آپ arch your neck in a futile attempt to see the judges, but they are too high up for آپ to see. آپ turn your back on the crowd and watch the band exit. They seem pleased with themselves. Your دل skitters. You've never felt that pleased when walking off the field . . . have you? آپ struggle to remember, but come up short.
Some one calls your name, grabbing your attention. You're being foolish, آپ think to yourself. Of course you've felt that pleased, آپ made it all the way to state, didn't you? How could آپ have done that if آپ weren't pleased with your performance? The fellow spinner calls your name again, مزید urgently this time. آپ only have a small amount of time to set your flags, and you've already wasted a good منٹ with your thoughts.
آپ rush around, trying to appear confident, even though your body is trembling. آپ try and seem like آپ know what you're doing, that your calm and collected, even though your mind is racing, آپ can't breath, and you've completely forgotten where your last flag lies.
Finally, you're standing on your ہیش line, on your spot. آپ bow your head, clasp your right hand into a fist behind your back while your left hand holds onto the flag at your side for dear life. It's quite. The band is at rest, waiting for the field commander to blow the whistle. No one moves. No one breaths, it seems.
Your neck begins to ache from being arched downward, and from being tensed up. Your palms are sweaty. Strands of hair have fallen out of your tight up-do. Their light flyaways, and their softness tickles your nose as they swish around in the breeze. آپ want to badly to اقدام them, but آپ can't. If آپ اقدام before that whistle blows, آپ lose points.
Finally. Finally, after what seems like hours, the shrill sound of the whistle cuts through the silence. آپ snap to attention: head raised, flag brought straight up in front of you. Your right hand snaps up, grabbing unto the flag, positioning itself correctly above your left hand.
The band begins to march. They file past you, taking their places on the field. The commander raises her arms, the band raises their instruments, and the موسیقی begins. Instantly, you're lost. Lost in the music, lost in the steps, the tosses, twirls, spins, lunges. Your brain is on autopilot, naturally moving through the choreography that has been drilled into your brain for the past eleven months.
And then... it's over. The last toss has been caught, the last note has been played. It's done.
Tears well in your eyes. It's over. Not just the song, not just the competition, but your career in the high school marching band. No matter band camp, no مزید fighting with the drum-line. No مزید re-working routines to fit around the bands movements. No مزید late night practices. No مزید picking out uniforms. No مزید spin-offs to raise money for the team. No مزید pep talks from the band teacher. No مزید taking pain and anger and stress out on the flag. No مزید anything.
As آپ march off the field, out of sight of the judges, all of the seniors gather together. It's not an intended thing – you're all just dragging your feet, not quite ready to walk away from the field. Everyone's crying. Some are openly sobbing. آپ all stop, all at once, and huddle into a circle. آپ all put your arms around each other, all pull in close. There aren't words – they aren't needed. Everyone's well aware that this is a big stepping point. But, strangely, you're suddenly comforted. And the girl who'd been sobbing starts to laugh.
It maybe over, but it's not over just for you. There are others, right there with you. You're in it together. You're not alone. And that makes it just a little مزید bearable.
this is a heads-up on a story im writing. its about this kid in highschool wh ogoes into this haunted house,then,she turns into a vampire,slowy,and people begin to notice. its awesome.
heres the charecters.
vanessa:vampire girl.
duncan:vampiers girls brother
kylie:vamps bfff.
susan:mean girl
katie:posse (mean girl)
ashle:same as katie
mom:vamps mom
dad:vamps dad
um:those are the main charecters. details i havent thought of yet.ok,so,now آپ know.ok,bye!
gotta type more,you cn leave now.
jfgfgddfddfffff vampires rule!
heres the charecters.
vanessa:vampire girl.
duncan:vampiers girls brother
kylie:vamps bfff.
susan:mean girl
katie:posse (mean girl)
ashle:same as katie
mom:vamps mom
dad:vamps dad
um:those are the main charecters. details i havent thought of yet.ok,so,now آپ know.ok,bye!
gotta type more,you cn leave now.
jfgfgddfddfffff vampires rule!