Those Notes

Finalist in the 'Zapped! 2001' competition

Maybe it was the gigantic, red treble clef earrings. There sure was something weird about the band conductress, and there was.
It was one of those mornings where the bed sheets seemed to capture you in bed. The alarm clock hadn’t blasted out its usual nerve tingling scream. I missed the bus.
The agonizing hike up the hill to school had melted away my brain. Above all I had entered halfway during the assembly. Out blurted the last note from the band’s opening piece. The bank always played the same monotonous tune every morning. I could hear my empty seat calling to me.
As I was just about to collapse into my seat the whole assembly rose as a mass of drones and was paraded into the work shed.
From the corner of the conductress’ insidious eye she could see me not conforming to the crowd. Her glare hit the back of my cornea as she pointed with her baton in my direction. I froze with bewilderment from the shock of her stare. Her crooked lips mouthed my name. I cowardly confronted her as she placed the baton in my sweat-dripped hands.
The two parallels of erect rock people paraded through the work shed door. The drudgey, rusted conveyor belt usually used for spaying had taken on a sinister turn and was the assembly line for a vast array of musical instruments. The assembly horde was huddled with hammer in hand alternatively thumping the metal into shape. Their eyes were focused on the production line as a cat does to its prey.
As I waved the baton, music sprayed to every crevice in the room. The notes activated the movement of the workers as the instruments were packed off the production line and shipped to China.
The band conductress adventured down to the depths of her bag. In her spindly, wrinkled hand she tightly held thick wads of fifty dollar notes, her profits from the last shipment out.
As she crouched down to reach my height I was sure she was in the middle of casting some weird enchantress spell. She cupped her hand near my ear and in her overworn, yet youthful voice she whispered, “This could be the beginning of a very profitable relationship.” She smiled her crooked smile and once again glared at me.
Maybe my brain had melted away, maybe it was wrong, but a little pocket money never hurt anyone, right?

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