all those rage, and i'm still here?

thirty - five

"Impostor."

"3...2...1..."

The lights flickered on as the spotlight revealed their amiable smiles, capturing the vibrancy they brought to the stage. Their confidence overpowered those who couldn't make it up. The audience was left in awe. Praises came from all sides, sounding like worship, with endless cheers echoing plangently, as if they were stars in the dark sky, radiating brilliance and serving as beacons in the vast sea of humanity.

Shining like the sun itself, which left me in thought—it would be humiliating to stand beside them.

Those people, those who always rose to the top, as if success were carved into their existence and every path they took doubled their luck.

"Hurry up! Make sure that one's taken care of!"

In the distance, I could read their lips. Behind the curtains, I peeked and saw the crew behind the scenes: the director, the producer, the stage manager, the set designer, the makeup artist, the costume designer, the lighting designer, the sound designer, and others. All were seemingly exhausted and lost in panic, wiping their sweat as some paced back and forth while others resumed their duties. They were in the background, playing supporting roles, ensuring the main characters dazzled effortlessly.

The audience remained in awe, eyes sparkling with joy, watching the stars on stage. All my focus seemed to be there as I walked slowly, trying to find my seat. I walked and walked until I found my way to the middle of the crowd.

I gazed at the stage, my grip loosening on the stick of the head mask I wore. I crossed my legs and observed. The stars continued showing their talents—their golden voices, effortless dancing, incredibly believable acting, intellectual debating, and ethereal musical rhythms. Every single one shone so majestically that I couldn't take my eyes off them. It seemed as if the stage was created to showcase their distinctiveness.

They were born to be on stage. They were more than deserving of that spotlight. That spotlight was theirs to begin with.

Their features were highlighted in such a detailed way that their faces glowed whenever they were hit by the light. The hairstylist did an excellent job styling their hair perfectly. Their fancy dresses and elegant suits emphasized their different body types, adding to the aesthetic appeal of being on stage. A perfect view with the perfect people for each role.

As I let myself get lost in the melody and performance, I heard whispers below from the audience.

I slightly gripped my mask, my eyes roaming with the gossip. Most of the audience members in the back were quite loud. The audience, oh, that audience.

They might look as fancy as the stars, but they are of no value. They are those who couldn't make it, those who sat among the crowd—one with the crowd. Just another face, just another waste of talent.

Those with nothing special, despite the gold or silver accessories they carry.

Perhaps they were created to let others shine before them. Perhaps they were created to chant and boost the morale of those on stage. They were built for normality and as a support system. Without such people, no one would applaud those in the spotlight.

Their garments were meticulously tailored, boasting lavish details such as embroidered crests and gilded buttons. The men wore tailored waistcoats and flowing cloaks, while the women were draped in less fancy gowns with delicate lace and flowing trains.