Ever heard of too much of a good thing? Well, take your ears somewhere else. It's not here. At least, not anymore.
Seven girls spread over different parts of the world, like uneven and chunky peanut butter. Each and every day, they live, being the n...
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The room was stunningly silent. Adults hung their mouths open at the spectacular lights, teenagers dropped their phones to see the astonishing costume clothing, and babies stopped crying to witness the sheer amazing talent of the play that families from all over South Korea came to see, in the huge auditorium that was larger than most buildings.
I stood on the side, admiring the shock in everyone's faces as the first dancers came onto the stage, their magically sparkly dresses swishing against their skinny legs and thin bodies, their hair pinned up with assorted jewels and gems, their eyes popped with an overwhelming amount of eyeliner.
It was opening night for the show, so hundreds of people swarmed and gathered for the grand show that they were about to see. Knowing how good the show was, I knew by the end of the performance, everyone would be greatly impressed.
As much as I admired the showy actors and singers, I was a rather distant person and liked keeping to myself, however, I was very artistic. I built sets for the scenery of the shows, which to my dismay, everyone loves.
If there was one thing I hated, it was attention. I absolutely detested it. The thought of being famous was absolutely horrifying - the bright lights, the media watching your every move, and the constant barreling work of trying to be supportive and awesome for fans, 24/7. It just seemed too much of a job, and I wasn't willing to have that feeling, or anything close to it.
Which is why, I had the brilliant idea, to put an alias in the program, instead of my name. When people scrolled down to see who the set designer was, they'd see a fake name - not my real name. By the time they figured out that "Sue Anderson" was never heard of in theater productions, I was already gone, disappeared like a puff of smoke. I was so stealthy, not even my own co-workers knew what my name was. It just showed how desperate I was to keep myself as private as possible.
I grabbed my coat and slowly went around the stage, already leaving the show. I had seen it a hundred times in rehearsal, why see it again? I had no fans, not that I wanted any. I ducked my head, not wanting to be seen by a few people waiting in the lobby of the theater. I had an inclination that they might talk to me. I was shy too.
After strategically leaving the theater, I was confidently walking out of the building, and into the outside, my jacket swaying in the brisk autumn wind as I walked toward my spotless white car. Finally. I could leave the theater, and do something calming, and definitely introverted, like watching a movie on Netflix or reading.
I brushed a leaf off of my jacket and took another step.
Suddenly, the wind shot out a huge gust, and my jacket flew up in front of my face, the zipper smacking into my face. Ouch.
However, the wind was not stopping despite my constant attempts to at least keep my jacket in place. It was like the wind was letting its true violent nature out, and attacking me relentlessly and repeatedly like someone was controlling it.
