His hair is red. Like fire.
That only reminds me about how passionate I am about this play. This story.
The lights go down and the applause crackles like wood that's been doused in gasoline and lit.
This is only one play. One story. One play out of millions.
His hair is red. Like the overwhelming realization that there's millions of more stories to be told that gets lit inside of me.
His hair is red. Like fire. I want to do this for the rest of my life.
YOU ARE READING
The Diary of Margot Frank
Non-FictionA nonfiction account of a young girl's experiences in theatre, through vignettes.
