Another Flash Fiction Challenge for terribleminds.com.
A two o’clock in the morning story? Sure! Why not?
No one ever said acting was easy. Oh sure, they make it look easy. Those hacks on the big screen. Yes, for them it’s all direction and bright cameras in exotic locations. Too much money, not enough braincells.
Angelina Jolie, Meryl Streep, Dakota Fanning.
Bite my ass, bitches.
I know it, the crew knows it. I’m the best. Plain and simple.
It’s not a matter of pride. I’m really not one of those girls that flaunt her ego in everyone’s face just so she can get what she wants.
Lady Macbeth? I gave people nightmares. Juliet? Please, I make Romeo swoon with lust. Elphaba? Done it. Phantom of the Opera? Standing ovation.
I can sing, I can dance. Bitch, I’ve been on broadway. I have seen some shit you wouldn’t believe.
I’ve done some shit you wouldn’t believe.
(Did it feel good?)
Fake blood isn’t supposed to look like this. There isn’t supposed to be a bloody sword in my hand. I’m not supposed to be Catherine Zeta-Jones in fucking Chicago!
My hands shake as I run them under the sink. The water’s scalding me, but I can’t feel it through the tremors.
It was just practice!
I run my hands through my hair. Look up in the mirror, start. Blood runs down my face in a grotesque likeness of Carrie.
(White dominates her eyes, her mouth won’t stop opening and closing.)
Okay, steady. Grab the sink, that’s good. Yeah. Deep breaths.
(Someone switched the blades.)
I decided to play Horatio. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Why did I take the secondary character? I never do that!
(It was you.)
Her. That little two bit, no talent waste of space that decided it was better to fuck the director than actually try out for the part.
(You wanted the lead.)
Ted. The director. He said something about Jeremy being sick. Practically threw himself on the floor at my feet to take the practice session as Horatio.
(You did it just to shut him up.)
She was there. All dressed up for a plainclothes gig.
“Lisa, take opposite Meredith, will you?”
We didn’t even go through our lines. Maybe we did. I don’t remember.
(Yes. Yes we did. Don’t lie, drama queen.)
She was better than I expected. Despite her muffin top she was quick on her feet.
(You came after me! It was self defence!)
No one else liked her. I heard them! They all talked about how she was upstaging me, how they didn’t want another girl taking my position. I was the best, they said, I deserved the spotlight. I always got the spotlight.
(It was for the best.)
Straighten from the sink. Dry my face, no use in scrubbing. Blood takes time and careful consideration to completely disappear.
(Poor little muffin top.)
She just didn’t understand.
(Never knew what was coming to you.)
No one does. No one knows what it’s like.
(Easy enough to switch them out. Keys are so easy to steal, copies so cheap these days.)
It’s hard being the best. To own the stage. To be the character.
(Lying there like that, blood pooling out around you, dying. Eyes wide.)
I own the stage, bitch.
(Mouth opening and closing in a silent plea for help.)
I watch you smile. Watch the blood drip from your face onto mine.
“Poor Horatio, I knew him well.”