The Stage

Ooh. The pretty new editor is... pretty. Except it won't let me italicize this. Is that just my computer? that's possible. it won't do it on my email either...

Edit, 30 seconds later: Oh, it... appeared exactly as I pasted it. Well, WYSIWYG... now looks consistent all 'round! Italics working too. Brilliant.

The stage, baby.

It’s calling.

Can you hear it whispering seductive songs? Every time you walk past the auditorium on your way to English class. Every time you walk down the Fine Arts hallway, past those (locked) doors. It’s calling.

The stage, baby. Spotlights and seven pounds of makeup and jazz shoes. Slide across that floor. Blocking blocking, X marks the spot where you’re supposed to be. Heat of the moment. Adrenaline rushing through your veins and you are living for this moment. 

Auditions and you’re on an adrenaline rush, giggling in the hallway while the directors watch people reading lines. Rehearsals and you’re wondering why the hell you’re doing this again when you’re falling behind on homework and you’re running on five and a half hours of sleep. Hell Week (show week) and you’re wondering the same thing but times a thousand and three, and then performance:

and you forget all of that as you step onto the stage. Pure adrenaline, baby, and you are alive. You are alive. Open your mouth and speak your lines, open your mouth and sing your notes, under stage lights while the ninjas of the tech crew sneak behind curtains and whisper into headsets. Alive, baby, this is living.

The stage is calling, worming its way through the block of your headphones blaring Broadway soundtracks into your ear as you walk down the Fine Arts hallway–

and you smile at the (locked) doors and promise the stage you’ll be back.