Post by EZRA BIANCA GEORGE on May 31, 2010 14:59:37 GMT -5
OLD WORLD UNDERGROUND,
WHERE ARE WE NOW?
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Ezra strode casually back onto the stage, meeting his female counter-part in the center before taking a sweeping bow for the empty auditorium. And that was it – the very last rehearsal, been and gone. The play had swept the theatre department up like a tidal wave, and the whole experience had been so fast, so frantic, that Ezra had yet to truly get to grips with his leading role. It was the decision to make a whole school play which had thrown him off kilter – the usual small cast affair for each individual year group of theatre students having been replaced by a exponentially more complex full department performance. As always, Ezra had set his heart in the lead – even more so than usual as it was unveiled that the piece was Oscar Wilde's 'A Woman of No Importance'. The casting had been hell, with four times as many student vying for each role – and Ezra had fought harder than ever to achieve the part of his dreams. As always one rival stood out above all the others. Nathan was one of the many students at this school whom Ezra looked at with intense respect – however little he showed it – and knowing that he would once more be up against his idol made him try harder than ever. And, when the cast list was finally announced, Ezra had been genuinely shocked by the outcome. That he had been chosen over Nathan seemed to him either madness or mockery.
Now though, three months and endless hours of rehearsal later, Ezra had finally accepted his success. He knew this set better than his own bedroom, the life of his character better than his own – even his character's relationships had started to seep through into Ezra's own consciousness, as he found himself complimenting the small brunette freshman who played Mabel: something which was completely absurd for cold, calculating Ezra – yet perfectly usual for a witty Wildian hero. But that was the thing about Ezra's acting. It was entirely sincere – he felt each emotion in the play as sharply as if it were his own, and he grasped onto that. Acting was his release – his way of letting out all his insecurity, all his self-loathing... all his sincerity. On stage was the only time he let himself show warmth to others. Outside the auditorium, he hid his loving and loyal nature behind a five inch wall of proverbial ice – his own personal way of blocking himself off from others. Of keeping the rest of humanity safe from his hateful and destructive influence.
The rest of the cast made their way out through the wings, laughing warmly about minor slip-ups or embarrassing parents who would be watching the evening's show – but Ezra stayed behind. The thick curtains fell, hiding the set from view once more, and Ezra found himself alone. He ran one pale finger along the smooth oak finish of the furniture, surveyed his empire. Realized with a small, quavering smile that this was far more his home than where he ate and slept. Realized with a slight frown that this was his final night as this other man he had become so entirely.
Realized with a sudden tightening in his chest that this was the night when he would be that man in front of a crowd, baring his soul and emotions for all to see – and that they would be, unknowingly, not just judging the quality of his acting but the quality of his entire person.
His hand stilled, hovering over a finely polished table, and the fingers curled into a taut fist, knuckles white with effort. God... One hour and counting, and it would be the night itself. The auditorium would be full to bursting – and everyone in the theatre department would be relying on him. Relying on his acting not to put them to shame, to do them proud, to make this play the best it could be. And anyone who ever relied on Ezra was proven to be a fool for doing so. His sister had relied on him. Believed in him. Trusted him. And now she was only alive on paper, nothing but a still figure on a white hospital bed.
His next breath caught in his throat, and fear fluttered into existence in his chest. He couldn't – wouldn't – let someone down again. The all too familiar panic spread like fire through the slender frame, and Ezra knew what was coming. It happened often enough – every time Annie's face came to his mind. He fled the stage, nothing more than a desperate blur. He didn't want people to see when his legs gave out, when his breath stopped coming. When he was gripped with that total and utter fear. Panic attacks were his problem and his problem only – he would deal with it alone. After all – he didn't deserve help or pity.
He flung open the door of one of the male changing rooms and gave in.
