drama club {boyxboy} {willxnico}

Bowling Alley...Again

ily Sokeefe_4life thanks for reading ur so precious

-2 weeks later, Monday-

"Again! This is trash!"

I groaned, my feet aching as I walked off the stage again. I had already re-enacted this scene 8 times. We were all exhausted and wanted to go home.

Hazel sighed and gave me a reassuring smile as we both walked down the stairs. The music started up again as the opening was sung by Mallory Keen. "I guess this is the beauty of being a star."

"God," I mumbled. "I don't know how you're gonna be able to do it for the rest of your life." I slapped both hands onto my cheeks and dragged my face down.

Hazel's eyes widened. "What do you mean? Aren't you becoming a musician?" She reached up and grabbed my hands, letting them fall against the sides of my body as my face stretched back into place.

"No, that's not what I wanna be," i said, truthfully.

"What? An actor?"

"Uh, no."

"A singer...?"

"Um...not really."

Hazel put her hands on her hips. "You're gonna put all that talent to waste? Really?" She resembled an angry mom I always see on TV. I could only imagine her as a real mom. Maybe she'd sing really angrily at her children or make them listen to horrible music.

"I'm gonna do it on the side, obviously," I said. "but it's not gonna take up my time. It's not serious to me." I half expected her to give me advice, but instead she just looked disappointed.

   "You have the face and skills of an actor," Hazel sighed and then looked up. "Gotta go."

   I bit my lip nervously as she walked on stage.

"That's when you go...

Downtown,"

"Where the guys are drips," Hazel sang.

"Downtown,"

"Where they rip your slits."

"Downtown,"

"Where relationships are no-go," she sang.

Brace yourself for my first-world problem but, I really hated having people thinking what I should be. It made me wonder, am I better as that? Should I be seen as just that? It seems every time it was brought up, my thought process sped up and it was so uncontrollable. I knew who I was, so why was I conflicted?

Too late to think it out now, I was up. I got in my place on stage, biting my lip hard. I grabbed the prop, a broom, and began sweeping the floor. "Poor! All of my life I've always been poor," I said, letting my anger pour through my words. "I keep asking God what I'm for and he tells me 'gee, I'm not sure, sweep that floor, kid!'" I began blocking out my surroundings as I sang, "oh, I started life as an orphan, a child of the streets, here on skid row. He took me in, gave me shelter, a bed, crust of bread and a job, treats me like dirt and calls me a slob, which I am!"

   Usually, I'd look up at Mr. Brunner to see how I was doing and he'd be slapping his head violently but I ignored it. I was too afraid to show him how much sadness I could feel, scared he would flop on the ground and tell me I was over playing. "So I live,"

"Downtown,"

   "That's your home address, you live,"

"Downtown,"