A deranged man who likes to call himself the Director kidnaps a teenage boy and girl to be his actors. He expects them to perform the six acts of his play without messing up once, or else harrowing pain awaits them.
🥇1st place / The Cosmic Awards
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NATHAN'S STRESS LEVELS rocketed higher than all the times he'd procrastinated studying until the very last minute before an exam. All he could think of was that his life partially depended on someone else's (rightfully) questionable ability to perform without messing up.
Opposite him, Adelaide was holding her copy of the script that the Director had slipped in beneath the door after they'd returned to their room. The top of the paper curled over so that Nathan could glance at the heading, though upside down.
From his place, he couldn't see it clearly: blurry black block letters, indistinct like someone had dropped ink and let it spread. But he'd read it on his copy, so it didn't really matter, and in his head he could assemble the words:
ACT ONE: THE ENCHANTER AND THE ENCHANTED
Adelaide pursed her lips as she leafed through the papers. "The script sounds sorta weird."
"It sounds like a cliché love story." Nathan stretched his legs across the floor, grunting at the click in his knees. His copy of the script lay on his lap. "It's not gonna end well. I'm mean, I'm the villain. So my character will probably end up breaking her heart or some shit."
"Yeah." The silence left after Adelaide's word seemed uncomfortably curt—the type filled with unspoken afterthoughts, if her distant expression was anything to go by. "Why didn't he tell us what to do now? Like, how much time do we have to memorize it?"
"We should start memorizing it anyway."
Adelaide nodded, flipping the papers over until she returned to the first page. Nathan held his copy. Not two words into reading the first line and Adelaide was already shifting in her place. Nathan glanced at her through his lashes like he didn't find it in him to lift his chin high enough. "Anything wrong?"
"I'm sorry."
"About?"
"Almost messing up on stage." A strain rendered Adelaide's voice a whisper. Combing a hand through her hair, she brushed the frizzy strand obscuring part of her face away. Her laugh sounded more like a warped cry. "I'm nineteen and all I did was cry. I'm a grown up, I should've handled it better and just . . ."
"Doesn't matter," Nathan said, shrugging one shoulder. "I'm eighteen and I act like a five-year-old all the time. It's not like you get kidnapped everyday. Forget about it."
Adelaide wiped the tip of her nose with her sleeve and it kinda pissed Nathan off. A pet peeve of his. He stood, trudged to the dresser and pulled out a tissue paper.
