BENJI. (a guide to being normal)

Talentless Brit Auditions for Britain's Got Talent

Like a Chinese gong, Benji Dore's heart banged against his ribs. The blood boiled in his ears, rushing in and out like a violent wave. His breath came out in stammers whenever his lungs collapsed for the next shuddering inhalation. His clammy hands clung tightly around the black microphone, shaking whenever he spoke into it. His knees wobbled, as if they were made of pudding, and sometimes they knocked together whenever he'd stress a laugh.

"Your name?" boomed the infamous Simon Cowell. His fingers flicked down the piece of paper on his clipboard and his narrowed eyes stared at the trembling figure on the blue-lit stage.

"Benji. Benji Dore. Well, my full name is Benjamin Andrew Dore, though, friends call me 'Benji.'" He brought a nervous hand to his chest and smoothed out his graphic t-shirt that read How to Kill a Zombie. Right under were symmetrical blocks with solid white figures shaped like flesh-eating monsters. Around each zombies' head was either a bulls-eye or an ax with bright blood staining the end.

"Which do you prefer?" Simon asked in an uninterested voice.

"Prefer what?" Benji inquired as if he had been startled from his sleep.

"Your name, what do you like being called?"

"Oh, Benji."

Simon looked down at his sheet of paper again and wrote something near the top. He tossed his pen aside, folded his arms, and leaned back in his chair. He pursed his lips and his eyelids dropped halfway. He turned to the second judge and shook his head slightly in a way that was only meant for that judge to see. However, it was enough of a motion for Benji to catch. Clearing his throat, Simon said, "What are you good at?"

"Good at?" Benji moistened his lips and looked up to the right. His foot tapped nervously and his fingers danced along the microphone, loosening the sweat between his fingers. "To be honest, I'm not good at much."

"But are you good at singing?"  Amanda, the second judge, asked politely. She primped her pulled up hair and tugged lightly at her patterned blouse.

"Not really," Benji said softly.

"What are you singing, love?" Amanda said with a small smile. Her eyes sparkled under the lights, putting the unfortunate performer at ease.

"Um, Till Kingdom Comes by Coldplay."

"Well, off you go then," Simon ordered with a commanding wave of his hand. He looked at the two judges beside him and shook his head again. He shrugged and rolled his eyes, clearly showing his doubt in Benji's vocal talents.

"Right," Benji muttered to himself as he pulled his feet closer together. The hand not clutching the microphone found the end of his zombie t-shirt and to that he clutched until his knuckles glowed white. Clearing his throat, he looked off towards the record player and waited for the first note to cue him in. A moment passed before the strong chord echoed in the auditorium. The audience stared intensely at Benji, watching his every action.  Instead of singing, Benji did something quite embarrassing. He held up his finger and shouted loudly over the song, "Excuse me, sorry, is that the right song?"

Thinking it was all an act, the crowd leapt into a roaring laugh and clapped wildly until Simon turned around and gave them a threatening glare.

"Yes, that's the correct song, Benji," Simon said through a splitting grin. "Are you sure you're singing the right song?"

Patting the front of his shirt again, Benji muttered behind the microphone, "Yes, yes, sorry. Yeah."

Simon whirled a finger at the DJ, picking the song back up. Sadly, Benji was thrown off and he began singing two notes ahead of the actual lyrics. Murmur rose amongst the crowd and soon, the spacious auditorium filled with thunderous booing. It grew louder and louder until the music could no longer be heard, much less Benji's broken voice.