Book of Fates ✔

The whole world is a theatre

"Okay."

Anya left the shop without saying goodbye. The 'next time' would have been fine if only it hadn't been Anya's last play. And she'd told Sophia that, many times.

Finally, the park was left behind and the theatre peeped from the corner of the street. In the light of the setting sun, lurid posters stood out among the bleakness of the city like peacocks among the pigeons.

Rounding the building, Anya vigorously walked through the back door. Surprisingly, she arrived early. An unexplainable excitement flared inside her as she imagined coming upstage tonight. This always felt like some kind of sorcery. Once the lights come down, you're no longer the person you're used to be. You live in the world of the play.

In that enigmatic world, you can be a hero and a villain, the rich and the poor, and the sorcerer weaving the world itself. It's magic. You can laugh and cry, endure sorrow and joy. You can save kingdoms and destroy empires. And whatever the ending is, the actors are all friends.

But, the moment Anya came into the dressing room, she instantly and irrevocably lost her spirit. Over a dozen of her fellow actors were bustling around the room, digging through piles of clothes and props. No magic.

"Hey, you look frustrated," Christine said, braiding her strawberry hair in front of the mirror. She flicked her eyes to Anya and then back to the mirror. "Have you told your dad you don't want to study history in college?"

"No, not yet," Anya made a motion, fanning her face. Why is so hot in here? Does the mood affect the body temperature? "But my history test is successfully failed, so his dreams of me becoming an ethnographer aren't meant to come true."

Chris laughed, "Oh, I'm sure he'll understand."

Tyler scooted past them, carrying a giant plastic log with twigs chaotically sticking out of it. The log was supposed to magically transform into a tree on the stage-or to stay the plastic log in the eyes of those who lacked imagination.

Chris hissed, "Careful, Tyler, you'll ruin my dress!"

"You'd better help me than gawk at your own reflection for half an hour," Tyler scowled at her. "Are you glued to this mirror or something?"

"A theatrical should look flawless!"

"Since when you're a theatrical?"

"Since when you care about the props?.."

For a minute, Anya watched her colleagues yap at each other. Then she felt sweat dripping down her back. Oh, it got even hotter in here with these two bickering. And if the director saw her, he'd make Anya carry the logs too, because she had no part in the first act of the play and, consequently, was considered the best candidate for the job. And it was so hot... Aagh.

"I think I'd better wait in the foyer," Anya muttered and slipped out of the room.

Breathing heavily and still fanning her face, Anya hurried downstairs and into the hall. She felt much better the moment she blended in with the guests.

Anya's eyes roamed over the crowd. Her father was nowhere to be seen. He was working late probably. And, probably, it was good.

Anya reluctantly wandered along the foyer, dwelling on depressing thoughts. The play was trivial-'Robin Hood'. And Anya's part in it was even more trivial and tedious. She had to dance across the stage and sing a song with the other 'citizens', just a couple of minutes in the second act. Was that of the theatrical? Barely.

Despite all the struggles on stage, despite all her desire to learn history and be the daughter her dad wanted her to be, Anya felt desperately lost. Out of place. Wretched. All the time. What was she doing wrong?..

No, it wasn't the air that made Anya feel like fainting. It was the sudden realization that there was no magic Anya lulled herself with. No magic. No dreams ever come true.

She made her way through the people, who were chattering and laughing. She tried to find some sense in the paintings on the wall that showed square clouds and were pompously called 'The Modern Art'. She gave a cheerful smile to an old lady selling theatre brochures with a tired expression.

"Hey!" An unexpected exclamation ripped Anya out of her contemplations.

"Hey, Max," she said as she saw the boy standing beside her.

Max's face beamed with a timid smile, "You look beautiful today."

"Uh, thanks. And you..." She glanced over his green checkered suit. He always wore that suit. "...too?"

"Thank you!"

Anya knew that tone. He was about to start one of his nonsensical talks. Leave me alone, she wanted to say. I need to ponder my melancholy.

She glanced around, searching for somebody familiar to have an excuse to walk off. Nobody. Only strangers, filling the hall with hustle and murmuring.

"Do you think there is a square sun in the square clouds?" Max asked, looking at the painting in front of them, and tapping his lip.

"I don't know, but I think the weather must be awful in the square world," Anya said absently, thinking of how to get rid of him instead. Max's part in the play was the same as Anya's? Then he'd be trailing her next two hours at least.

"With square people catching square raindrops?"

Anya shrugged. Maybe she'd simply leave? Go home. The 'citizens' would be just fine singing without her. Oh, it was hot again.

"I see you don't like talking about the squares," Max rubbed his forehead, upset.

"Sorry," Anya gave another shrug. "I'm just not in the mood tonight."

Drawing his eyebrows together, Max thought for a moment and said. "How about we discuss our dreams then?"

"Dreams? Why dreams?" A vague thought crept into her mind suddenly. She had a weird dream a few days ago. But what was the dream about?..

"Well, I saw a dream last night," Max began, gesturing his hand with enthusiasm. "It was about tonight's play. But the plot was totally different, and we all were eating ice cream on the stage. Do you like pineapple ice cream, by the way?" He looked at Anya, his eyes shining expectantly.

"Never had a chance to find out," she admitted, still trying to remember what she saw in her odd dream. Some distant memory brushed the back of her head, making her mind tingle. "And what was the plot about?"

Max's cheeks turned pink. "I can tell you, but you'll think I'm crazy."

"Oh, come on. Now I want to hear it!" Anya hoped she'd sounded encouraging.

She looked at Max's round face. She didn't see him in her dream, did she? No. But there was someone... Or something. She could almost taste the dream on the tip of her tongue but still remembered nothing.

"Okay," Max slouched, giving in. He took a deep breath and spoke, mumbling, "I saw this dream, and it seemed really important... I was a detective, investigating a case about aliens. There was also Lady Death who was looking for an immortal writer and... And I found Red Sparrow!.." He saw Anya suppressing laughter. "I said it was crazy."

"It's not that crazy," Anya said, chuckling. You're just wiggling your hands too much. "And dreams are always insan-"

She practically felt somebody's gaze stop on her back. It was like a wave of hot, burning air cut through her body.

Anya turned her head without thinking, seeking the person. It took her the better part of a minute to find a guy.

The guy.