Completed [The Amphitheater] Stage fright

[Alia Beaudouin]

91st of Fall, 513 12th Bell This was terrible. Absolutely, positively petching terrible. Alia had never thought that so many people would come just to see a two-bell long play. Never had she thought that all of the benches would be taken, some of them overflowing with patrons waiting to see the play. Alia had always thought she would be fine up on stage in front of a lot of people, absolutely fine. That was obviously not a very educated theory. The most people she had entertained at once back in Wind Reach was what, ten? She had preformed a song for a couple of children after they had pestered her to play. Of course, that was singing, and ten school children was very, very different from a hundred adults that had paid good Mizas to watch her act. Alia didn’t even have an important part, her lines were ongoing, but not too terribly long. She shouldn’t have a problem with them. Her job was to go onstage, say some words, pretend to die, and take a bow. That was it, job done. If that were true, then how come her feet felt too heavy to move and her thoughts were clouded with fear? It was pathetic, though Alia refused to wallow in self-loathing. An Inartan afraid of birds, an actor afraid of the stage, did it matter if she could do everything right? No matter how useless she may feel, sticking to the topic wouldn’t help anything. It was just opening up the door to depression, and disapproval from others. Such thoughts wouldn’t help anything at all. The present was all that mattered. Alia looked around, nearly all of the other actors were busying themselves with last minute practices, or getting in a few minutes of socialization. The only people without a smile on there face were the actors who hadn’t practiced their lines enough - Their frantic whispers of memorizing lines could be heard over the bubbling of the crowd - and Alia herself. Doubts still flashed around inside the young actress’s mind, but she did her best to suppress them. She had to be ready for the first act, no matter how impossible standing up on that semi-circle platform that was the Amphitheater seemed. It reminded her of a line from a play she had once read the script of. She wipes off the black rivers running down her un-made cheeks. She takes a deep breath in and steadies herself. She can do this, keep going, pull through. The show must go on. The show must go on. No matter what, the show must go on. Life was like a play, a play is like life. They both keep moving on, no matter how many souls fall behind. Taking a glance at the overflowing amount of people sitting in the seats of the Amphitheater, Alia let out a heavy breath. There were so many! How could she not mess up, with that many pairs of eyes watching her every move? So many observations, judgements, she was bound to say a line wrong, have too much emotion, have too little emotion. There was but a tiny mark of perfection that everyone was expecting the actors to achieve. A bullseye the size of a coin. An impossible target. How was Alia supposed to hit it?

[Alia Beaudouin]

It was as if Alia was torn in two, one side spouting logic and knowledge, saying how irrational it was to be afraid of the stage. The other, cowering behind a tree, waiting for the show to go on without her. It was confusing, as fear usually was. A throbbing in her ear brought Alia back from philosophy mode. She had been twisting her earrings again, a nervous habit. The earring had been twisted so much that the back had fallen off, so the pointed end of the backless earring was grating against the inside of her ear. Alia wondered why she had gotten them pierced in the first place. Her mother had probably persuaded her. It seemed as if the scenes were going by too quickly, that the introduction to the plot shouldn’t have been over so soon, but as the chimes ticked by, so did the scenes. Alia messily fumbled with her earring as the play was introduced, the main characters brought onstage, and the conflict arose. Once the earring was back in place, Alia tried to distract herself from her upcoming scenes by practicing her lines. It was a futile attempt, as with every word Alia harshly whispered, it seemed that the actors already onstage spoke five. The show must go on. Alia wondered why she was having such a hard time getting past stage fright anyway, it wasn’t as if she had been afraid of preforming before, and just because the audience count increased didn’t mean her quality of entertainment decreased. She had only gotten the job that week, it wasn’t her fault for not knowing every secret to acting. Tersely mumbling out the last few words of her lines, Alia closed her eyes and imagined the pages of the script in her hands, invisible to all but herself, but still there, as if it was a rehearsal, not the actual show. Just a rehearsal. That was all, mistakes could be made, but there was no use crying over them. Two scenes left until Alia’s character was introduced. She released the death-grip she had taken on the fragile lines of the play. The pages were of no use to her now, she had memorized every line. She should be fine. Alia let herself concentrate on the words of the actors already onstage. They weren’t afraid, they couldn't be, all their lines seemed perfect, emotions in place. They seemed to be hitting the coin-sized bullseye,why couldn't Alia? Alia’s mind felt like it was bursting at the edges. It wasn’t as if her lines were hard to memorize, but while juggling five hundred other thoughts, it seemed impossible to capture the right ones. Maybe taking her mind off of the lines would help her stop worrying about them? Alia turned her mind to an old story her mother had read to her. There once was a man who raised a bountiful number of chickens, day after day he would feed them, care for them, and collect their eggs. Day after day, the same thing. But one day, the man grew tired of this routine, so he went out into the forests to find new adventures. The man came across a lone nest that had fallen from its tree. It was full of large, perfect eggs that mystified the man. He stole one of the treasures and brought it back to his home. When he got home he put the egg in with the chickens he kept in the yard. The mother hen, with her modest and kind nature, warmed the egg, calling it special not strange, so she atop this magnificent egg and couldn’t have been prouder. Sure enough, some weeks later, from the egg emerged healthy egret, full of energy and light. And as is in the nature of chickens, they didn't balk at the stranger in their midst and raised the majestic bird as one of their own. So the eagle grew up beside his chicken siblings. He learned to act like a chicken, speak like a chicken. It believed resolutely and absolutely it was a chicken. One day, late in its life, the eagle-who-thought-he-was-a-chicken happened to look up at the sky. High overhead, soaring majestically and effortlessly on the wind with scarcely a single beat of its powerful golden wings, was an eagle! "What's that?!" cried the old eagle in awe. "It's magnificent! So much power and grace! It's beautiful!" "That's an eagle” replied a nearby chicken, "That's the King of the Birds. It's a bird of the air... not for the likes of us. We’re only chickens, we're birds of the earth". With that, they all cast their eyes downwards once more and continued digging in the dirt. And so it was that the eagle lived and died a chicken... because that's all it believed itself to be.

[Alia Beaudouin]

It was as if Alia was torn in two, one side spouting logic and knowledge, saying how irrational it was to be afraid of the stage. The other, cowering behind a tree, waiting for the show to go on without her. It was confusing, as fear usually was. A throbbing in her ear brought Alia back from philosophy mode. She had been twisting her earrings again, a nervous habit. The earring had been twisted so much that the back had fallen off, so the pointed end of the backless earring was grating against the inside of her ear. Alia wondered why she had gotten them pierced in the first place. Her mother had probably persuaded her. It seemed as if the scenes were going by too quickly, that the introduction to the plot shouldn’t have been over so soon, but as the chimes ticked by, so did the scenes. Alia messily fumbled with her earring as the play was introduced, the main characters brought onstage, and the conflict arose. Once the earring was back in place, Alia tried to distract herself from her upcoming scenes by practicing her lines. It was a futile attempt, as with every word Alia harshly whispered, it seemed that the actors already onstage spoke five. The show must go on. Alia wondered why she was having such a hard time getting past stage fright anyway, it wasn’t as if she had been afraid of preforming before, and just because the audience count increased didn’t mean her quality of entertainment decreased. She had only gotten the job that week, it wasn’t her fault for not knowing every secret to acting. Tersely mumbling out the last few words of her lines, Alia closed her eyes and imagined the pages of the script in her hands, invisible to all but herself, but still there, as if it was a rehearsal, not the actual show. Just a rehearsal. That was all, mistakes could be made, but there was no use crying over them. Two scenes left until Alia’s character was introduced. She released the death-grip she had taken on the fragile lines of the play. The pages were of no use to her now, she had memorized every line. She should be fine. Alia let herself concentrate on the words of the actors already onstage. They weren’t afraid, they couldn't be, all their lines seemed perfect, emotions in place. They seemed to be hitting the coin-sized bullseye,why couldn't Alia? Alia’s mind felt like it was bursting at the edges. It wasn’t as if her lines were hard to memorize, but while juggling five hundred other thoughts, it seemed impossible to capture the right ones. Maybe taking her mind off of the lines would help her stop worrying about them? Alia turned her mind to an old story her mother had read to her. There once was a man who raised a bountiful number of chickens, day after day he would feed them, care for them, and collect their eggs. Day after day, the same thing. But one day, the man grew tired of this routine, so he went out into the forests to find new adventures. The man came across a lone nest that had fallen from its tree. It was full of large, perfect eggs that mystified the man. He stole one of the treasures and brought it back to his home. When he got home he put the egg in with the chickens he kept in the yard. The mother hen, with her modest and kind nature, warmed the egg, calling it special not strange, so she atop this magnificent egg and couldn’t have been prouder. Sure enough, some weeks later, from the egg emerged healthy egret, full of energy and light. And as is in the nature of chickens, they didn't balk at the stranger in their midst and raised the majestic bird as one of their own. So the eagle grew up beside his chicken siblings. He learned to act like a chicken, speak like a chicken. It believed resolutely and absolutely it was a chicken. One day, late in its life, the eagle-who-thought-he-was-a-chicken happened to look up at the sky. High overhead, soaring majestically and effortlessly on the wind with scarcely a single beat of its powerful golden wings, was an eagle! "What's that?!" cried the old eagle in awe. "It's magnificent! So much power and grace! It's beautiful!" "That's an eagle” replied a nearby chicken, "That's the King of the Birds. It's a bird of the air... not for the likes of us. We’re only chickens, we're birds of the earth". With that, they all cast their eyes downwards once more and continued digging in the dirt. And so it was that the eagle lived and died a chicken... because that's all it believed itself to be.

[Alia Beaudouin]

It was a nice story, one that had been told and re-told in so many ways no one was truly aware of its origin. Alia remembered her mother reading it to her at late hours, after all of the eagles had retired to their nests. She would constantly change the story, one day the eagle died a chicken, the next he found his wings and soared. In any case, the story would bring great comfort to Alia, even when she grew too old for her mother to read it to her in bed. The thought of the story being read in her mother’s voice softened Alia’s taunt nerves, so when the actors onstage cued her for her short, nearly unimportant lines, she was ready. Striding confidently onto the stage, Alia opened her mouth to say her lines, and instantly lost her nerve. So many people watching, waiting on her. Waiting being the optimum word. Alia delivered her lines several ticks late, but she still remembered to project her voice, and she was sure it reached all the way to the back rows of Amphitheater seats. ”For what is all this y-yelling?” Petch. Had she stammered? Was she too over-confident when she had come onstage? The other actors didn't seem to notice the slip, though Alia was sure the audience had. Hopefully they would excuse such a minor mistake, though. The man onstage that played Alia’s character’s husband stepped towards Alia, standing beside her and pointing his wooden sword at the other actors onstage. Alia’s character had apparently walking in on a feud, her confusion sparking anger in the men verbally brawling. ”Dearest wife! The Parkslian family has woefully wronged us! He has admitted to ruining our crops, killing our livestock, poisoning our wells! The man stopped the instant the other actor started speaking, though it was a bit clipped, spoiling the illusion that he had been cut off by the man the man who played head of the Parkslian family. As the men argued, Alia put on a mask of surprise, just like the script suggested. She hid slightly behind the actor who stood beside her, still yelling. To the audience, it would look choreographed, but truthfully, Alia just wanted to be out of their line of sight. Was the audience judging her right now? What if she tripped on her exit? Was she even standing in the right place on the stage? Alia stared down at her feet. No, this was the right place. It would be the other’s fault should someone plow her over. The scene was almost over, anyway. All that was left was for the two actors to declare each other enemies and then the actors would go offstage, eagerly replaced by others, who would reset the mood until it was time for the main parts to go on again, and then it would be Alia’s turn.

[Alia Beaudouin]

Her turn to once again parade onstage and say another batch of lines, soon to be forgotten in the midst of other actors. Of course, the next scene would be her last. She had practiced her ‘Ending’ lines more times than any other part. Of course, it wasn’t the most important scene in the play, but it was important to Alia. Sure, she didn’t have much experience with real plays, but this one seemed pretty good, though Alia hadn’t seen any bad ones lately, either. Tapping her foot in quick rhythms as to pass the time, Alia counted the ticks in between her scenes. She had gone from dreading the time she spent on stage to practically looking forward to it in between scenes. Fear was a strange thing, not to be underestimated and easy to overestimate. Just as Alia was about to drift off into the world of her own thoughts, another actress came to sit beside her. The sudden presence made Alia jump a bit, though her anxiety over the new face dwindled after she realized the other actress seemed incredibly nervous about the play, too. The other actress didn’t say anything, instead choosing to pick a particular tree to stare at and completely ignore Alia. Slightly confused, Alia continued with her thoughts despite the new presence. The next scene would be beginning soon, though Alia refused to think about all the ways she could mess up. It wasn’t going to help her case if she kept on worrying, and it wasn’t as if this particular scene decided the rest of her career. It was her first, even if she messed up, the others would understand. Every master began a novice, and every novice makes a mistake. People greet masters as if they are perfect, so making a mistake couldn't possibly derail everything. Clapping from the audience broke Alia’s concentration into shards. The scene was ending, meaning that she was up next. Standing up from her hidden place behind the stage, Alia snuck a look at the audience and actors stationed on the semicircle platform that the actors preformed their art on. There was two actors on stage right now, the man from before that played Alia’s “Husband”, the enemy of the Parkslian family and, on top of that, head of the Swylion family. The other actor was indeed her “Husband”’s sworn enemy, Marcus Parkslian. Alia marched onstage just as the pair drew their swords, her cue to begin speaking. The words of the scene she had practiced so often in the days before came easily, though once or twice a word slipped her mind, only to be filled with another, less scripted one. This earned several glares from the stage master, who sat on a bench in the front row of the Amphitheater, but Alia tried her best to ignore him. It wasn’t fair that he judge her for improvising, that was one of the things he himself taught her to do. Was she supposed to improvise, or not? Waving her arms in exaggerated emotion, Alia imagined the scene in which she was supposedly preforming at. A bright day light, just beside bountiful fields of wheat that divided two opposing families, who were bent on destroying each others’ business. At the cost of nothing were they to be beaten, not even at the cost of life. Stepping towards her fellow actor, the one playing a Parkslian man, Alia tried to look as hopeful as possible as she spoke her lines, as if trying to persuade peace into warriors determined to cause war and destruction where ever their paths may lead. But Alia knew her character’s pleads of peace were in vain, as her script had dutifully stated, The Swylion wife is the first to die, struck down by the head of the family Parkslian. Which, several ticks later, was proven when the actor playing Master Parkslian “Attacked” Alia with his wooden sword and scripted moves. Of course, the sword was fake, and Alia was well aware she was going to “Die” at the end of the scene, though unfortunately, her character didn’t. As the other actors continued with their dialogue, Alia stumbled backwards, as if confused, which her character was indeed. Alia could understand why, one minute she was giving a peace speech, the next, a sword was through her side. Falling backwards onto the stage, Alia lay still. Pretending to be dead was by far the easiest part of the job, though sometimes it was challenging to resist the erge to smile. Luckily, the scene ending quickly, with the actor playing her character’s husband attacking the other man onstage, leading into a long sword fight, which of course, ended in choreographed bloodshed. The crowd erupted into applause once one actor lay “Dead” on the stage, just next to Alia. It was the final scene, where only one was victorious. The ending was slightly cliché, as the plot line of plays ending in bloodbaths was far overused, but still, Alia enjoyed it. The clapping of the crowd meant they enjoyed it, which meant that the show had ended with an closing as brilliant as any other violent play, gruesome and entertaining. After another few chimes of wrapping up the story, where a younger, newer actor narrated the epilogue, Alia was allowed to stand up and take a bow. The show had gone on, and it had gone on well.