Erjika Tevkana
a little 2nd POV for all you marchers who think pit has it easy!
It's cold, wet, and unbelievably miserable. It really sucks to be section leader, because you're the one chosen to run back and forth over a soggy baseball field six times just to see when the rest of the band is coming. Already you've scraped your hand on hook to the bass drum, and you've smashed your shin on the gong. You know you'll be laughing about this once you're warm and cozy, but all you can do right now is stare in horror at the torn flesh on your hand-- and worry because you can't feel it.
Showtime. Grimly pushing the vibraphones ahead of you, you watch out of the corner of your eye as the band marches in a somewhat straight line across the field. You can only hope that no one will slip. Last year, a guy in another band had slipped in mud and nearly broke his ankle. All credits to him, he was able to march off the field with his bandmates before collapsing. With luck (and a bit of astroturf), this won't happen again.
Setting up the equipment, your mind goes numb as you try to focus on not letting the wet metal slip out of your hands. You're not nervous of the crowds anymore, but being under those bright strobe lights only a few feet away from the bleachers does make you self-conscious. You try not to curse openly.
At last, everything is set up. The drum major turns and salutes. You wrap your hands tightly around the mallets. You can't even feel your fingers, and you can barely see with all the rain coming down. Thanks to all the water, your fingers slip and you screw up the first note.
You sigh. It's going to be a long night.
