^{Previously published in Inner Sins and Fiction Magazine.}

What do I feel?

“Where the bee sucks, there suck I:
In a cowslip’s bell I lie;
There I couch when owls do cry.”

It’s not a game of pretend. He makes sure of that. I turn to the audience and smile. They’re all silhouettes, their features drowned out by the glare of the stage lights. Even so, somewhere in the back I can see tiny points of red light playing in one man’s eyes.

My smile widens as I feel the emotion swell inside me, filling me up like air in a balloon. I giggle softly for a moment like a little girl with a piece of candy. The more cynical adult in me wants to retch, but she’s tiny now, overshadowed by the sudden glee burning its way through my soul. With a ballerina’s twirl, I turn back to Prospero.

“On the bat’s back do I fly
After summer merrily:
Merrily, merrily shall I live now
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.”

Another giggle. Another gag from the real me, locked away in a tiny cell somewhere in my mind. Prospero begins his speech, but all eyes are still on me. They watch my every movement, noting the nuances of my body language as though Shakespeare somehow makes more sense when I point my toes. This is what I do, and what I love: I steal scenes. Avery has talent as Prospero, but I’m what everyone is here to see. He just doesn’t feel the play the same way I do. He can’t; no one can, and that’s what makes me so unique.

I smile again as I begin the next line. I couldn’t be happier.

And yet when I take my bow and the crowd stands up to applaud me, I can’t help but tremble a little.

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