Breathe

He had to do it again.  This was the worst part of the job. As a young child, he had hated school assemblies and even now,  whenever he would see his son standing on stage, his eyes would tear up. Never mind the fact his eight year old voice would squeak throughout the hall,  sounding like a train pulling off an emergency stop. It was the sheer bravery and confidence that always struck him. Sometimes,  whilst watching talent shows on the telly, he would have to turn them off. The thought of the anxiety that the contestants were going through would force him to panic on their behalf. If one made a mistake, it was as if he was on that very stage and his heart would race like an out of control freight train. He had taken this job because it was solitary in nature, he had his own space and he could be left to his own thoughts. More importantly, it never involved the silly presentations that he had to suffer through as a teenager. There had been that one time when he was presenting on the intricacies of the weather system, but the week of preparation completely failed him when the headmaster just so happened to pop his head into the classroom. His words became a jumble of clouds; stratus, cumulus and then before he knew it, there was a rainstorm in his eyes. Public speaking was not for him and yet here he was at it again.

He pressed his finger on the intercom button.  “Ladies and Gentlemen this is your train driver speaking I would like to apologise for the delay we are just being held at a red signal.” 

A fusillade of words overcome. Success.