LINES
You are literally pushed to the stage. You see someone looking at you. You can’t even understand the words he is saying to you. You look at the scenery for a clue about what kind of play this is at all. You see a fake wall with a window, and two chairs next to the table. And your actor partner with a book in his hands waiting for your answer.
You clear your throat and try to get into the scene somehow.
– So – you say – what is it that you are reading?
You see your partner turn so pale you are sure this is not even close to what you should have answered. He replies with something like
– I beg your pardon or excuse me? But you don’t really know because the blood in your ears is pumping unbearably fucking loudly. You look out to the auditorium and see people tied to their chairs with their mouths stuffed. You feel as if all your strength and will is leaving your body, and your fist slowly opens, pouring the soil from it on the floor. With wobbly steps, you are leaving the stage and then the auditoriumas well. But none of the spectators make eye contact with you. As if that would be worse than being tied to their chairs with their mouths stuffed.