by Leanne Cairns

Noise of the assembled crowd
Sweaty itchy palms
It’s nearly time
I can’t do this
Why me, why now
Time’s ticking by
I can hear the clock
Louder than normal
My breathing’s becoming faster
5 minutes is called
Pacing like an expectant father
Reluctantly I step onto the stage
The heat of the lights
First laugh from the crowd

We’re off.

– Leanne Cairns

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