the stage stands, cold and bare. tonight there are no decorations, no enraptured audience waiting for the performer who waits in the wings. she stands on tiptoe, eyes on the clock of her smartphone, patient and tentative.

she’s in jeans and a white t-shirt, as dressed down as she can make herself. this is supposed to be her last performance, her last attempt at being what others want, and no-one is here to see it. she’s called this her last concession, her last lapse of weakness, and they don’t care for it.

no – there is one seat occupied. she can’t make out the figure in the shadow, but she drops her mobile onto her jacket, silences the ringtone and slips onto the stage, takes her first pose. there’s nothing else to say or do, and she performs quickly, speeds up and rushes off the stage.she calls this piece freedom.

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