Waiting for my cue, I practice my smile. It feels wrong. Too forced. Too white against the gray pallor of my skin.
I try to shake off my doubts. I am the heir apparent. It is my heritage.
But some nights it’s too much. It’s like a giant squid has me wrapped in its tentacles. It squeezes and squeezes and whispers “birthright” in my ear, but I don’t feel lucky. I feel like it’s trying to drown me.
But it’s too late for second thoughts. The crowd chants my name as I once again claim my birthright.
(97 Words)
Thanks for the inspiration.
Tina Stewart Brakebill 