You, in the spotlight. Come quick, they’re looking. They can see you, see through you. Every dirty secret. Every public embarrassment. They know what you do at night. They know what you don’t do, but say it’s done. Your unbalanced nostrils. They’ve watched you sit while others suffer. Your ridiculous failures and unearned successes. When you put forth all your effort and fell flat on your face. You said it didn’t matter, but … They know! They know! Your ugliness and cruelty. Your acne and back hair. It’s all exposed.
Come. In here! In here! Find the entrance. Yes, there it is.
A bookmark? So, you’ve been here before. You know then. It’s safe here. Here there is order. Pages come one after another. Here you are the audience and they dance across the stage. The troubled hero. The ingenue. And the villain. Yes, you can hate him. Watch him suffer. No, watch them all suffer.
The hero trips and someone dies. The ingenue, so sweet in her innocence. You can play with her innocence, tease her with it, or take it away. It’s okay, they don’t know. No one can see you here. The villain, you like him don’t you? He dances in the spotlight. You would be him if you could. And here you are.
You hold the spotlight now and when they look to find you they’re blinded and the darkness is yours.