Emerson's POV

"I can't do this."

"Yes you can."

"No, I can't."

"Em, just believe in yourself. You'll do great."

I sighed, getting more anxious by the second. "What if I freak? What if I mess it all up?"

Mom smiled, shaking her head. "You'll do great. Don't worry about a thing."

"Emerson Nestor?" The lady on stage said into a microphone. Mom flashed me a smile, and I took a deep breath, walking onstage. I took my place in front of a microphone and waited until everyone stopped clapping.

My first poetry competition. Mom and dad signed me up for it, thinking it would be good for me. I was extremely nervous about it before, and now that it was finally happening, I couldn't be more anxious. Luckily, it was small- less than 150 people were here- so it wasn't that bad.

I took a deep breath before speaking. "Fires ablaze within my eyes, a smile concealing all my lies. Screaming, begging, calling out. A final, frantic, desperate, shout."

Some people started snapping and cheering for me. I gathered more strength every time it got louder and more people joined in.

"Scarlet tears drip from each vein, a vehement covet to end this pain. This silver blade stays by my side, because all hope inside has died."

"As each day ends, and darkness draws, the devil toys with all my flaws. I'm helpless, alone, a worthless mess, a broken child he must address."

The cheering grew steadily louder, until almost everyone was clapping and calling out. They all gave me the strength to take my anxiety away and make me keep going.

"I'm tempted when he calls my name. A way out, an escape, an end to shame. To make it feel a lot less real, adeal with the Devil, in blood must seal.

"They'll say I died of suicide, but no one knows how much they've lied. It wasn't a rope, a blade, or pills that broke my soul and gave me chills.

"I died inside so long before. To live each day, an endless chore. Pills could not kill what was already dead. A twisted soul, an empty head.

"In darkness I wait, in silence, alone. Rose-tinted nostalgia, all around me has grown. I beckon the devil with the key of self-harm, and I open the door for him with the blood of my arm."

I walked off the stage while everyone gave me a standing ovation, cheering and shouting my name and telling me that I did a great job. Mom hugged me tightly and whispered encouraging things in my ears. I was just happy to sit down- I thought I was going to faint.

The rest of the competition went by in a blur. We'd find out who goes on to Regionals when we all get a letter in the mail. Mom hopes that I'll be able to go, though I doubt it. There were way more people that had better poems than me.

Once I got home, that's what I did- write more poems. I wrote, and wrote, and wrote, before finally getting the perfect poem to recite at Regionals- if I was able to go.

Dad called me downstairs shortly after for dinner. I raced downstairs and sat at the dining table, eager to eat at least something. We all got our plates and began eating.

Dad smiled at me. "So, how'd it go?"

I blushed. "Okay, I guess. It was fun."

Mom grinned. "She was amazing, Ethan. I recorded all of it."

"And what poem did you use?" He asked me.

"'Scarlet Tears.' I wrote it about a year ago. It's my favorite one I've ever done."

"Seemed like it." Mom smiled at me. "You said it with so much emotion, I knew it had to have a deep connection with you in some way. I loved it, and so did everyone else."

"When do you find out if you go on?"

"Next week. They'll send a letter in the mail saying whether or not I went on."

"She definitely did." Mom took a bite of her food.

"We don't know for sure, mom. There were other kids who were better than me."

"But you got the most applause. You're definitely going on."

I sighed. Hopefully.