Ending of the Final Act

The curtain falls, and behind the opaque swath of fabric, the mask falls as well, the masquerade is over. Another show follows directly after this one, but there is still time, still time to fade into who I am. Who am I? It's beginning to become harder to imagine. After years of pretending, of acting, the fake words fall from my lips faster than the real thoughts that are locked within my mind. 

I am scared. Scared of so many failures, of so many groundless worries. But the audience does not like a tragedy- they demand a comedy of my life. And so I make do, throwing jokes and rhymes and laughter carelessly in my wake. My mask is firmly in place, designed by my very own hands as I had prepared to unveil the new me. 

I inhaled, the air getting stuck in my throat, and Panic, Panic whose shadow always lingers in the darkness, is awakened. Then I exhale, releasing the bile out of my lungs. I attempt to pull off my mask, relieved that it comes off, albeit difficultly. Recently the façade is getting harder to let go of. I brush the sweat and hidden tears from my face, and readjust my hair. I peel off my contacts, seeing my plain brown pupils for the first time in days. Then the disks are shoved back in, and my eyes become unrecognizable. 

A bell signals the start of a new show, and I hastily stand behind the curtain, in one of the wings. I mentally go through my lines, though I know there is no need- the character I've become feels even more natural than my old self.

Then the red velvet curtain rises once, and the mask is back in place. I stand, traipse into the front of the stage, and gaze at the blinding light that covers the unknowing audience. I pause, check to make sure the smile is back in place, and then I open my mouth, and begin to speak, hiding behind well-rehearsed lines and a smile once again.

Begin Act One