An Attempt at Impressionistic Prose

A jolt of voltage filled the stage. It was startling, as she wasn’t expecting such a sudden burst of electricity, but both the hum of the current zipping through the wires and the bright light that accompanied the jolt had become a comforting sound to her over the past several years. The blinding glow coming from the fixture just in front of the proscenium arch above her signaled that the time had come. Soon, the empty and still space would be filled with chatter. The crisp, biting chill in the air that could be found at just about every theatre she had ever worked at would be replaced with the warmth of patron body heat flooding the room. The crimson chairs looked oddly stiff from where she stood. It wasn’t natural for them to stand so frozen and hardened. It appeared as if they had never been tasked with the duty of supporting a body before. “No matter,” she thought to herself. “soon they will curve under the weight of an excited audience member and the rigidity will be no more." Her gaze lowered to the dark, coal colored ground beneath her. It’s texture was smooth and even, the blackness interrupted by a maze of neon colored tape in varied colors that created a pattern only decodable by select individuals. She knew it was time to retire to her dressing room. Her sweatpants and paint splattered t-shirt needed to be traded for a slimming corset and rose colored gown, and her thick, wavy mane of hair was due to be transformed into an elegant Victorian updo. She knew where she needed to go, yet her feet refused to carry her away from this majestic view. “Here onstage is where the magic happens.” she thought. “Here is where I belong.”