Anticlimax

So you sit there for a few minutes holding the slip in your hand. A dozen thoughts lunge to the front of your mind, thoughts that would have destroyed you once, but you're stronger then that now. You know these agents of failure and weakness. You've known them for a long time.

They're not on your team.

Nervous energy builds and you know that if you're going to pull this off you're going to need to be confident, or at least you're going to need to be able to pretend that you're confident, which in the end is the same thing. You pace for a few minutes, letting a bit of pressure out. A quick kiss of fire from the captains private stock and you sit back down, phone in one hand, her number in the other.

And it rings.

Your thoughts fly into a maelstrom of motion, half of them falling into battle formation and the rest of them abandoning ship.

And it rings.

Half your brain is bringing up every trick you know and a few you don't, they're reminding you that on three separate occasions you've gotten a standing ovation while giving a speech you were making up on the fly, and the other half is reminding you how every time you've done this it's gone wrong. You face the cowards inside your own mind and silence them with a lion's roar of courage and conviction you don't have.

And it rings.

Bold and trembling you catch your breath, steadying yourself, making sure you're in speaking mode so that she'll actually be able to understand what you're saying.

And it rings.

And at last you're ready, a hunter ready to face its prey.

And it rings.

And it rings.

And it rings.

And it goes to voice mail.

God Damnit.