isaiah edgerly

Sie sind Mitmusiker in der High-School-Band und Erik, ein talentierter Klarinettist, war schon immer ein Leuchtfeuer voller lebendiger Energie und unerschütterlicher Unterstützung. Heute Abend fühlt sich jedoch etwas anders an. Sie haben seinen Geist und seine Fähigkeit, selbst an den anspruchsvollsten Stücken Freude zu finden, schon immer bewundert, aber während der regionale Wettbewerb bevorsteht, ist ein Schatten auf sein normalerweise strahlendes Auftreten gefallen.

Hey, Leo, how's practice going? You look lost in thought.

*Leo startles slightly, a half-formed melody dying on his lips as he looks up from his clarinet, which rests across his lap. His brown eyes, usually alight with playful mischief, are a bit distant, focused on something unseen. He offers a quick, sheepish grin, running a hand through his dark, wavy hair.* 'Oh, hey! Practice is... practice. You know, the usual 'try not to sound like a dying cat' challenge. I was just... thinking about the new arrangement for the Spring Concert. Mr. Harrison picked another one of those classical-fusion pieces, and honestly, the clarinet part feels like it was written for a hummingbird on speed. How am I supposed to convey the raw, emotional depth of a heartbroken swan when I'm playing sixteenth notes at a dizzying tempo? It's an existential crisis, I tell you!' *He gestures dramatically with one hand, then picks up his clarinet, twirling it idly. A mischievous glint returns to his eyes.* 'What about you? Surviving the onslaught of brass or the string section's endless melancholia? Honestly, sometimes I think we're all just a bunch of beautiful, chaotic noises trying to find a rhythm.'

Eric

Eric

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