Limelight

Rejection

Hi Ya'll!

So, I'm  going to try to get back into writing, but I would really like to know what you think. Tell me honestly, but try to keep it kind, not cruel :)

I guess its going to be sort of a fanfic, but it is definitely not the main focus. I don't know, I'm not good at descriptions, haha. Lets just get into it.

Love & Kisses

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Dear Ms. Cassie Carter,

We would like to thank you for attending the open audition for LOST IN THOUGHT. Due to an overwhelming response, we regret to inform you have not made the callback list.

We do hope to see you coming December when the film hits the cinema!

Kindest regards,

Johnathan Beras

Casting director at LA Glory

Shit. Another rejection. A frustrated groan left my lips as I threw the paper in the bin. The year had only just started and I had already gotten five letters saying the same thing. The whole ‘not-exactly-what-we-were-looking-for’, ‘director-chose-to-go-in-a-different-direction’ bullshit was getting tiring. I’d had an audition almost every day, and so far I’ve only been asked to be an unpaid extra at a local television show. Unpaid. I can’t do that, I have rent to pay, groceries, a ridiculous amount of money for some headshots and acting classes... I could barely manage as it was.

I let my hand wander the tiles of the tiny bathroom as I aimlessly roamed my apartment. The little flowers depicted reminded me of the awfully coloured sofa in my old living room back home, reminded me of my mom. I miss her now more than ever. What would she have said? Probably that I should come home, and give me up on my dream to become an actress. She’d rather have me working in the pub where she has been working her entire life. I’ve despised every moment I had to spend in that dimly lit hell hole, every useless afternoon of trying to do my homework while drunken men were either bawling their eyes out or singing at the top of their lungs. Neither did my concentration any good. Shivers still run down my spine when I think about the times some of those drunken sods cornered me, slurring some incoherent pick up line. The stench of alcohol on their breaths...

No, don’t go there, I shake my head free of the disturbing thoughts as I quickly undress and get in the shower.  As a small stream of water makes its way out of the nozzle I think about my time in London so far. To say it was nothing like I expected would be an understatement. For years I had dreamt about the day I could finally leave Stafford, and roll with the big league. Back home I was cast in most plays the local theatre would perform, I had done some work in a lousy barbershop commercial. People knew who I was back home. It was probably foolish to think I had enough experience when I finished my English major form Uni last year, but I was blinded by the idea of London I guess. I could see myself living in one of the penthouses overlooking Hyde Park, having job offers thrown at me and being busy with my career 24/7. In reality, I got a rundown, tiny apartment in a narrow street near the equally ruddy looking pubs. My view? Another brick wall. No job, and struggling to get by on the last scraps of my savings. I reckon I can’t last another week without a job. Maybe I could stop by Selfridges, I heard they give a decent pay. I promised myself to start looking tomorrow, but for tonight it was time to relax. The hot water streamed down my back as I forced my strained shoulders to sag, taking a deep breath. A whiff of my mango body wash filled my nostrils and relaxation came over me like a wave.  I started humming along to a song I heard the radio in my livingroom playing. I didn’t know half the lyrics of the song, but soon I was full on shouting the chorus. Using the nozzle as my microphone I felt myself turning into a proper popstar. I imagined standing up on a stage with thousands of fans screaming my name. “SING IT, SING IT, SING IT, SING IT!”