I looked up to see the Forever 21 engulfed in flames and quickly realized that I was only a matter of feet from the fire. I panicked and rushed to turn around, but tripped and fell. I couldn't think straight, I couldn't get up. I dragged myself to the street. Luckily, no cars were on the road and I took what felt like hours getting back on my feet. I cuts along my legs and arms, but nothing more. I slowly limped my way toward the theater.
A woman, Margaret, saw me and rushed over. "Oh my god! Are you okay? You're bleeding!" She buzzed around me. Despite the obvious concern in her voice, she still seemed cheery. I don't understand people like that. I usually try to get away from them, but as I was in shock still and needed her help, I didn't say anything.
She left me in the crew lounge and said she would come back in about 30 minutes to check on me. I thanked her and sat down on a couch. Her phone rang and she closed the door behind her as she answered it.
I waited until I no longer heard her walking and heard the stage door slam and slowly got up from my spot on the couch. I peeked my head out of the door, making sure no one would see me, and made my way to the room titled "Props." The door was unlocked, so I slipped in and switched on the lights. There were rows and rows of clothes, piles of scene backdrops, and shelves of equipment. I walked to the shelves and ran my fingers along the dusty stage equipment. I began to pick up a tool when I heard the door open. I dropped the tool and quickly spun around.
"What are you doing in here?" He asked. His face scared me - it was red and blotchy like he had been crying. He looked upset to see me.
"Uhh... I'm, um... I'm just looking around," I managed to force out. My voice quivered, I'm not very good with confrontation.
"Well. Who are you?" He demanded.
"M-my name is Lucy," I stuttered, "I just fell and Margaret helped me out. She left me in the crew lounge, but I got bored so I came in here to check things out."
"That's so typical of her," he said, "She's always trying to help someone out." I could sense a bit of resentment in his voice, but I didn't know why. I didn't ask.
"Well, I'll just leav--," I started to say, but he cut me off.
"Hey. I'm sorry I scared you like that. It's just that I'm not in a very good mood, I thought my play had been accepted, but it turns out--," he stopped himself, "I'm sorry, you don't need to know all of that. My name's Lucas, by the way."
"Lucy, but I guess I already told you that... You write plays? I've started to playwright myself. That's actually why I was walking in this direction in the first place. I mean, before the fire, that is. Any advice?" I forced myself to stop babbling and looked up. Lucas was staring at me with an annoyed and confused look on his face. He was older than me. He really wasn't as horrid looking as I originally thought.
"Advice? Don't do it. It's a pain in the ass, a waste of time, and no one will give a shit about you or the time that you put into your work." The red had drained from his face, but now it started to resurface. I could tell that I had struck a nerve.
"Oh. Well, I'm thinking I'd still like to do it. But I have a problem, and it's kinda embarrassing, but I've never actually seen a play. I came to see if I could get a job or an internship or something." I looked up for a second, but darted my eyes back down quickly. I hadn't actually made a plan when I left the house this morning. I didn't think I was going to ask for a job, I already had a job at the rink.
"Well," he said, "we have a new play coming soon, so we might need a couple of extra hands around. I'll ask my boss what he thinks, okay? I can't promise you anything, but I'll ask."
I thanked him and rushed out the door, I didn't want him to change his mind.
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