Creative Writing Practice #3 - Conflict

                My heart was about to leap out of my chest as I opened the intimidating door. I now found myself in the head office of the music school I had always dreamed of attending. My goal was to play piano for a living, and this was an experience of a lifetime. It was my only chance with a musical future, and I do not know what I would do if I didn’t get in.

            “The Professor will see you now,” a dull woman said from behind a too small to be comfortable desk. She gestured to a large door that I assumed was where the Professor’s office was. I took in one big breath before entering the place that could make or break me.

            “Take a seat, Miss Casson.” I heard from the professional lips of the uptight man sitting behind a massive desk. “Now, I understand you were hoping to audition for our academy, is that correct?”

            “Yes, sir,” I replied confidently.

            “Well I’m afraid that is not possible,” he spit out the words like watermelon seeds.

            I stared at him blankly.

            “The amount of work you have done is impressive, but you have not taken your final exam with the Royal Conservatory.” He said almost in a boasting way. “Without a certificate, your work means nothing.”

            I felt a pile of rage and anger fill up the pit of my stomach. “Are you honestly going to let a piece of paper determine what I can and cannot do?” I was almost shouting. “A single piece of paper from a tree. You’re going to let a tree be the boss of me? That’s not right. You don’t know what I’m capable of doing. I have been playing for 15 years!” I was now standing and leaning over his desk so we were now face to face. I have never been angrier in my life! “And you won’t let me audition because I don’t have a piece of paper signed by some preppy, uptight woman with a professional signature?” I was surprised by my outburst. I was usually so shy and quiet, and I never fought back. I quickly sat back down in the chair and tried to hide my embarrassed face. “Sorry,” I quietly mumbled as my eyes dropped to the floor.

            An eerie silence filled the room. The Professor seemed to be shocked and his wandering eyes seemed to be in deep thought. He got up from his seat and walked over to a vintage piano that seemed violently out of tune, judging on the layer of dust covering its body. He lifted up the key cover, and calmly said, “Play.”