I sit there. Staring blankly at the the empty theatre in front of me.
Pages of writing fill the book I hold in my arms.
I’m beginning to think this all was a mistake, but just as I start to give up, the slam of the theatre doors opening violently, and crashing against the wall, catches my attention.
Slowly people start to arrive and find a seat.
First there was One, then three, ten, fifteen— the numbers only got larger.
I begin to feel successful, and a small smile creeps onto my face.
I read my writings out to the people who sit in front of me, as the flow of admirers grow larger.
A larger smile takes hold of my face.
I begin to wonder why I regretted this.
Then- I flip to the next page of art to show-
The page, Empty.
My heart pounds.
700 people waiting to hear a story, see a drawing, read a response but instead, they get nothing.
The flow of people files down to a thin line.
The spotlight dies down and my panic to find more art becomes useless as nothing helpful appears.
I feel like I’ve failed all these people, yet they’re still here.
Still waiting, still patient.
Slowly but surely 900 people end up surrounding me, waiting for a word or two.
All these people still full of what seems to be everlasting hope.
My eyes gleam as the spotlight brightens with my small smile of confidence that radiated off the people in front of me.