Under Siege
The walls are closing in. I sit in my throne room, surrounded by advisors and assistants. Every entrance has been secured for now, at least. The guards posted are a stubborn and loyal bunch; they will never leave their positions unless I give the order. My appearance is stalwart, and everyone around me believes that I have the situation under control. There are no cracks in my façade.
Yet.
Beyond my doors, the barbarian hordes run rampant against the citizens of the castle town. The once-esteemed houses of Pridemore and Hopewell, noble families who have served my lineage for generations, have fallen to the ravenous mongrels. Fear and panic are in the air as peasants fruitlessly pound on my oaken doors, begging for assistance. I cannot help them. Were those doors to open, my bastion would be overrun by forces of chaotic intent.
“We cannot just let our citizens fall prey to the enemy! If we open those doors and lie down our arms, perhaps we may come to a truce with these invaders,” my steward chimes.
“Nonsense!” my captain of the guard shouts. “Their words carry nothing but malice for our king and his lands. We must stand our ground and fight!”
While they bicker, I stare with a blank gaze at those oaken doors, their words passing through my head. The hinges buckle, and the wood creaks. The ground itself shakes. They are coming in.
“My liege, what should we do?” my steward asks.
I hold my tongue and maintain my composure as the doors finally burst open. The guards, reliable as they may be, are no match for the superior strength of these invaders. My counselors flee for their lives, and I am alone. The leader of these brigands steps to my throne, sword in hand, and delivers a simple proclamation:
“So I think if you practice this technique in the mirror and work on your grip, you’ll be able to get the sound that I’m looking for in this piece. Alright?”
I blink my eyes, holding back pointless tears as I turn to face my instructor. “Yeah, I’ll give that a try next time I practice,” I respond, subtly gritting my teeth.
“Perfect! Well, I think that covers everything for this session, so I’ll see you in rehearsal next week!”
“See you then…” My speech trails off as I begin packing my things, my mind and heart still needlessly bogged down by this constructive criticism. How could I let them know that their words have left my sound mind and flawless persona under siege? Such arrogance would never be condoned by decent folk. Deep down, I know they mean well, and that there is much to improve with my performance. No one’s truly perfect, right?
Right?
But do I have the humility to admit such a thing? Is my castle keeping the invaders out or keeping my pride in?
I haven’t the strength to answer those questions. No single person can, not without aid.
So be it. The hordes have left, for the time being. Now to rebuild my walls for the next time these invaders come to topple my fortress.
