Slowly, methodically, and with intent you began to write me out of your script. It started with small lines, short scenes where I was not allowed to make an appearance. My character was replaced with no-names or whomever was handiest. Holding back tears, I accepted my fate, ever hoping that if I just stayed near to the cameras, you would somehow let me back into the final scene. But it never happens the way that we want it to.
At the premier, I saw how pleased you were, standing, watching the credits roll. I sat on the last row, close to the door, in the dark. I never saw my name, but what hurt more, you never realized that it was not there. I left before you could see my shoulders shaking with sobs that would not be swallowed. And you never called to see where I was.
Still, you should know, I am your biggest fan. I hope you get an Oscar.
eneough of this sissy stuff! lets get some action in there. You should have that crying chick come back to the theatre, but this time she's pissed. She's drunk and she has a grenade! Hey you're the writer, I won't tell you how to do your job. But remember, she should be a resiliant Russian immigrant!
ReplyDeleteKatharine, did you do that drawing?
ReplyDeleteChris