Fickle Vignettes

Vignette of Lines From A Play

Just off the glittery streets beside wood-paneled frames driving artists through days strewn across papered desks, an actor steps onto a stage.

Underneath him, the floor is chalky. So is his throat.

The character is complex; there are nuances to his movement that the actor fears. Little twitches around his eyes and slight impressions on his lips. Still, the performance goes well. He is invited back, to play the following night.

To celebrate, the actor smiles a little and then stays awake the rest of the night, staring blankly at the corner of the ceiling.

Again. This time, the stage lights dim as applause rains down and the actor can see the faces of the audience and mimics them for his own. A daughter throws him a flower.

He can't do it again. Headlines lay agape and waiting for his name. He doesn't give it.

The next day, the actor meets the scriptwriter for lunch. It's a cafe that looks out across an artificial lake widened from city drains.

"So it went well?"

How does the actor tell the scriptwriter that the story couldn't end the way they wrote?