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Viewing Single Post From: Forget About What I Said
Cicada Days
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i can feel something inside me say
[ *  *  *  * ]
No audience, no words.

That's how Ben had always felt on stage. Felt like something of a white trash douchebag if he was just blurting lines at the ceiling and the tiling and the three sets of bored eyes watching the rehearsal. 'Alas, Horatio, I knew him well'. Fucking Horatio wasn't even up there with him, busy playing hooky and letting down Denmark or Memento Mori or whatever it was Shakespeare had spewed. It had just been Ben with a sad, single spotlight to be clicked off when someone barged into the room and hit the wrong light switch. Shut him right up, that kinda thing did. Made the reading all cold and halfhearted and interrupted by lunch bell. No audience. No words.

He fucking needed some words though. If he sat still in the dark long enough and put the discount almost-expired cottage cheese he called a brain through the wringer...

... Then someone could open the door and Ben's face could suddenly ratchet away from Lana's.

The camera, of course, followed suit.

He had only caught the barest glimpse of a face before the door had swung back shut. Had to wonder how he looked now, gaping vacantly at a piece of wood with a doorknob attached. "Yo, I'm friendly. Come on in." He figured no guns were involved. If they were he'd be seeing holes and hearing bullets right about now.
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