text: Foreword: I made this to be submitted into a small contest, but I failed to meet the minimum word requirements. I am quite satisfied with the result and just wanted to share with someone. I hope you enjoy! **Sarah** She was nervous. Her face remained emotionless as she looked upon the curtain, knowing that soon it would open and that she would be exposed to the world beyond it. She sat in a circle of her peers, holding hands. The other actors all encouraged her. They all supported her. They believed that they could help her, but was she ready to accept them? She fought hard against her nerves. She knew what she had to do. She knew her speech. She knew every word by heart. She knew exactly what she had to say; what everybody wanted to hear. She recited it once to herself quietly and she could feel the encouragement rolling off those around her. They held her hands on either side. She didn't really understand the encouragement but she accepted it. At least, she didn’t reject it outright. Her heart beat faster and faster, but for every beat that accelerated the grip on her hand and wrist tightened a little bit more. She felt secured by it, grounded and held. She knew someone was watching out for her. She felt hope. Or was it despair? She swore she could hear her name whispered in the wind. The wind that passed from each member of the troupe to her. She was not yet ready, but the curtain was starting to open already. She could see the light shining glorious beyond it. It was beautiful and ever so bright and she somewhat feared it and loved it at the same time. Looking around her, seeing those that support her, she knew that she was going to face the light and she knew that they would be happy for her. What if it wasn't what she expected? What if the curtain opened and the audience beyond was disappointed in her, did not accept her, did not believe her performance? She'd been performing for so long that she couldn't imagine someone not believing her, but she always feared it. The time was nearly upon her and she could feel it. The cold sweat flowing about her body but she could also feel the tightening on her wrist as someone to her left supported her, encouraged her, called her name. It was time to sing. It was time to perform. It was time to dazzle those around her. She tried to pull away but the grip tightened and desperation filled the voice. She stayed a moment longer but the curtain was opening and she knew that curtain call was here. She knew she was on and that it was time to dance. She waited a moment longer, smiled and tried to reassure them that she was ready. The curtain opened a little bit more. She felt the grip on her wrist tighten and she felt a loving touch on her neck again. She tried to reassure them that she was ready but could barely mutter. She was ready. It was time. She could hear the audience now; could hear the murmurs and apprehension of the discussions happening beyond the curtain. People had gathered, watching at the edge of their seats, ready to see her but not wishing to be too loud and disturb her. Finally, she gathered her courage. She gathered her strength. She walked forth. She stepped into the light and the din got louder and louder. She did not notice. She did not care. She was there to perform, and none could doubt her. Everything went as she thought it would. She sang the tune as she had practiced. She called upon the audience's tears and love. She danced, twirled and played her part exactly as it was meant to be played, and it was wonderful. Everything was exactly as it should be and the light grew stronger and brighter. Blotting out everything in the world except her own voice and her own performance and her own presence. * * * Minutes passed and Mohammed cried. He held on to his sweet friend. He did everything he could. He tried to be supportive. He tried to encourage her but in the end it was just too late. The paramedic gently grabbed his hand and pulled it away from her neck and her wrist. He shook his head and said: “I'm sorry she's gone.