By: Amelia French

The creak of those floorboards the ones we know to dodge by tech week knaves backstage sneaking, searching to chase, run, poke, prod performing an intricate dance till scolded now we sit eyes glued to our scripts obediently searching for our cue. backs rigid and upright, knees stuck together guilty expressions disguised as ambivalence three souls spring up shocked by the change of scene whispers were tearing their eyes from the script edging their way, stealthily on stage thieves attempt to blend to be unseen did the choreographer notice? one of the actors a stickler of sorts smirks as the eyes of a superior race.