Capricorn by Jenny Hickson

Welcome to Part Six (halfway there!) of my 12-part Zodiac Blog Series. On Tuesdays in autumn I'm posting a story or poem each written especially for this blog by a different author. Each piece of writing has taken one of the signs of the zodiac as its inspiration. For the full list of participants - from established authors to first-time writers - plus the posting schedule and links to previous stories and poems, please visit the Zodiac Blog Series Page.

And for another writing challenge, go over to Simon's blog to join in with his Halloween shenanigans.


Today's story is inspired by Capricorn and written by Jenny Hickson.

Jenny is an software engineer by day, and spends her evenings and weekends knitting, baking and trying to cuddle chickens. Having written only technical documents since her GCSE days she started blogging about a year ago, starting with stories of her hens, and now writing about all things flora, fauna and fabric along with her husband Joe. She chose Capricorn on the spur of the moment - and then wondered why she’d chosen the goat of all things.Find Jenny on the Urban Cottage blog.

_________________________________________________

Show Time

It was time. It had all come to this moment. The training. The rehearsals. Soon the curtains would part and his debut would begin. All the stagehands had disappeared after hours of careful setup and everything was suddenly eerily quiet. The nerves ripped through him as he repeated his part over and over and over in his mind.

He was waiting with the others, all just as focussed, just as still. Waiting to be summoned into life by the opening music. They would enter together, it was their only comfort. They had practised until perfect, but upstairs had been so particular, determined to pull every string just so, as if they didn’t know what to do. He wished he could dilly-dally forever, but time was passing and it was coming ever closer.

As the audience went quiet the dread kicked in, he almost pulled out but found himself glued to the spot, waiting in the wings for his grand entrance, waiting, waiting. The lights went on. The curtain moved. The singing started. The strings twitched. It was time.

High on a hill was a lonely goatherd......