Is life really real?
My feet shuffle nervously around. My audition is next. What if they reject me?
Like, what if the world we see around us is a mere illusion...
My name is called, the butterfly's in my stomach multiply over and over again.
... fabricated by the government.
I walk up the stairs, and the judges, while glaring their evil eye's at me, ask my name.
Maybe the fabricated world we're in is just a dream.
"My name is Maybelle. I will be singing today."
A dream where we can never wake up.
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This book is dedicated to my good friend fatimahghouse.
Thank you for your ideas and wisdom. ♡
