Jared sat slumped in his chair. His trombone was laid against his leg. The rubber stop at the end of the slide barely keeping it from slipping and breaking on the concrete floor. Jared kept his hand lightly on the slide to maintain the appearance that he was paying attention as the director droned on about the cores of music. Again. He droned about the cores of music everyday. Jared probably would have made some comment to his stand partner. If he had been paying attention. But he was sitting there completely checked out. Browsing Reddit on his phone. Again. Jared didn't care much for band but his parents made him stay in it year after year. Now if you asked to director if he wanted Jared stay he would doggedly nod his head and say something about how every child is a joy. But if you put a few drinks into him... Suddenly Jared's trombone slipped started to fall. He caught it with his legs and snickered to his stand partner. He thought she was pretty. She thought... well lets just say she didn't think much of him at all. Embarrassed by the sound his trombone had made Jared sat up in his chair. He glanced around and thought *Crap that was close.* Jared didn't care about that trombone. He cared that the people who did care thought he cared about his trombone. The girl next to him glanced at him and then quickly returned to intently listening to the director. *Crap, crap, crap.* Jared's face was turning red from embarrassment. He could feel her despise for him. *She doesn't even understand what he's saying. She's just in here because her friends and boyfriend are.* Jared slouched down in his chair and decided that he didn't care what she thought. Just as he went back to his Reddit browsing the director seemed to have finished his ancient chant. Everyone in the class brought their instruments up, ready to play the beginning for the zillionth time so they could get the attack just right. The flutes first. Their facade of preppy fun schoolgirls struggling to hide their hate for the universe that only that whining instrument could produce. Then the trumpets with their smug little smiles and perfect forms. How they could sit up with their arms out and their trumpets at a perfect ninety degree angle all day long Jared had no idea. Then came the rest of the band. A little more sluggish but still with ample time to moisten their mouthpieces and reeds. Some with a bit of a grumble but at least happy to doing something instead of just sitting there. Then the percussionists\-- wait they don't play for another eighty-four measures. Then, finally, there was Jared. At first he had hoped it was a false start, but when the director had brought up his hands he realized that, no, this was not a drill. So with the speed of the sloth he grabbed trombone and tried to bring it his lips in time to play the first note. He failed. In fact he had barely moved by the time the rest of the band started to play. *Oh whatever we'll probably restart anyways.* Then, the unexpected happened. "Jared, care to join us this time?" The director's voice alerted everyone to stop playing. "What..." Jared's voice emerged almost inaudibly from his throat. "Care to join us?" Jared gulped. This didn't happen. If the director ever called anyone out in band it was someone it was in fun and usually someone everyone knew he liked. The director hadn't really spoken to Jared in years. "Uhh, ya sure." Jared felt a drip of sweat rolling down his back. Everyone in the room was staring at him. Their eyes accusing him of... well nothing. They just looked really menacing. "Alright, one more time." The credo of band directors. But instead of the the apathetic attitude that it normally produced in Jared this time he played with a terrified ferver. There he was actually playing his trombone. Boy would his mom be proud. The air rushed through his instrument producing notes of... below-average quality. As Jared continued to play he started to realize why he hated the trombone so. As his fear of the director decreased so did his volume. He shifted down crossing his legs and setting his trombone on his knee. He slouched down in his chair and his tone continued to worsen, his volume continued to weaken, and his attitude started growing. The attitude that had been quelled by the directors rebuke was now rising again more powerful than ever. The director thought he had won but he really had just aided in the rise of a new dark-lord. Behold Jared the Maleficent. With him would rise a new age of sarcasm, a new age of laziness, a new age of cynicism. Jared would be the greatest procrastinator the world had ever seen. At least that's what Jared was thinking as his trombone parted from his lips and he zoned out thinking about how he would get his revenge on the director. *How dare he do this to me*.\ By now the rest of the band had stopped playing as well and the director was reprimanding someone for something. Jared didn't care. Jared was waiting. Like a jaguar stalking its prey. The jaguar sees the prey and imagines his attack. He sees his teeth sinking into the poor animals necks. Its dying cry quickly being extinguished by the jaw of the powerful jaguar crushing its windpipe. The blood spurting out and drenching the surroundings. The jaguar doesn't care. He is excited, filled with adrenaline. He is the perfect predator. *I am a jaguar*. *If he calls on me I'm gonna fricking destroy him.* The rest of the class sat quietly while the director was explaining, but not Jared. He was seething like a hot engine yearning to run. His face had turned a bright shade of pink. His left knuckles were white as bone clenching his trombone. His right hand was at his side and was clenched as tight as a singularity.