They began to play.
tom
Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture, his favourite. She adjusted her position and scanned the crowd, looking for that familiar face.
There. Second box. Stage right.
She'd done this a thousand times, but always felt nervous. Breathing slowly, she calmed her body as the symphony thundered on - her cue was coming up.
She rechecked the contraption in her hands, now feeling unfamiliar in her clammy grasp. Raising it up, she felt it's cool weight upon her shoulder.
The soaring music engulfed the room and she saw the percussionists preparing for the crescendo - her cue.
Cymbals crashed and she squeezed the trigger.