Irene sat in the empty auditorium wondering where it had all
gone wrong. Everyone had filed out and she was left seated, contemplating how
she’d ended up here.
It was a small dead end town in the middle of nowhere and
she’d been isolated here for too many years. She’d tried her hardest to break
ice with the ‘natives’ and they would be civil, but there was no attempt to
include her or know her better.
She thought back to the days after college, starting out as
a winch operator backstage at one of the top theatres, full of hopes and dreams
and aspiring to have achieved them by the end of her twenties.
But here she was in her forties watching amateur
productions, no one knowing or caring what she dreamed of, wondering if she could
continue doing this solely for her children.
A wonderful piece, Miranda. A shard of something much, much bigger. You pack a lot into this entry, sketching big, interesting elements of backstory with the fewest of words. I look forward to reading more from you!
ReplyDeleteIsolated with one's own dreams --- it's own form of tragedy. At the same time, I sense a lurking note of rising hope, or determination. I bet she won't stay sitting in her circumstances for much longer. Great entry!
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