Maestro

Composed, he walks towards the podium. At first to applause, until a hush forms. His heart beats like a water pump, sweat drips - eyes fixed at his ensemble. Audience anticipates, as he stands at the nexus of musical creations. With a brief glance - nods and closes his eyes, baton in hand and a flick of wrist, an oboe penetrates the silence, violins trill and bass begin to roar. His empathy connects with each note, as his wand moves to the tempo, conjuring symphonic magic, softly then dramatically, as emotions ebb and flow, like waves weaving solo tones. Spectators lost in imagination. Gradually the melody flows faster, as trumpets and trombones blow. He feels a sharp pain in his chest, as his pores drip like little rivers on his lips, but he still guides the harmonic mood with precision and clarity. As the horns blare and percussions echo, he loses grip of his baton - falls onto his knees, clutching his breast - the music stops, pianist plays her last key - audience gasp he falls to the ground - curtains close.