Back My Pretties Save as PDF

My Pretties

Jeff Strand
Chapters (19)
  1. CHAPTER ONE
  2. CHAPTER TWO
  3. CHAPTER THREE
  4. CHAPTER FOUR
  5. CHAPTER FIVE
  6. CHAPTER SIX
  7. CHAPTER SEVEN
  8. CHAPTER EIGHT
  9. CHAPTER NINE
  10. CHAPTER TEN
  11. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  12. CHAPTER TWELVE
  13. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  14. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  15. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  16. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  17. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  18. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  19. CHAPTER NINETEEN

MY PRETTIES

A novel by Jeff Strand

My Pretties copyright 2019 by Jeff Strand

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the author.

Subscribe to Jeff Strand's free monthly newsletter (which includes a brand-new original short story in every issue) at

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

Olivia didn't tell the audience it was her final show. It was a small crowd that wasn't here to see her and they wouldn't care. She'd simply try to give her best performance ever, put all of her passion into these final six songs, and then leave the stage to focus on other areas of her life.

There was a time when she couldn't imagine giving up on her dream. That time was before ten years of performing in tiny, often crappy, sticky-floored venues for little or no money and less than adoring crowds. Not hostile crowds—she'd managed to make it a decade without anybody flinging a beer bottle at her head—but frequently lethargic ones. She helped pass the time until the headliner showed up.

Olivia loved music more than anything. She was also finally starting to accept that she might not be very good at it.

She wasn't a talentless hack. People didn't flee the venue with their hands over their ears. But they also didn't rush over to her merch table to buy stickers or CDs. People occasionally told her that they'd enjoyed her set, yet she hadn't really accumulated much of a fan base. It was rare that anybody showed up specifically because of her. She certainly didn't have any groupies, and she even would have been happy with a creepy, stalkerish one.

The realization that she might be average at best came after she, against her better judgment, took a day job that she suspected she might not hate. And she'd been correct. It was a decent-paying, satisfying job with friendly co-workers—the worst possible thing for her artistic soul. She still wanted to be a successful musician, but she was no longer hungry for it. Though Olivia craved the adoration of an audience, she also really liked medical and dental benefits.

She'd toyed with the decision of quitting music for a while. What clinched it was when she decided not to tell any of her co-workers about tonight's performance, because she was worried that they might have to tell a little white lie when they praised her.

So this was it.

The manager gave her the signal, and she walked up on stage with her acoustic guitar and played her heart out.