the actress

one; in which Lei Cooper chooses

LEI
I'd always been told to think. About my future, about what to do. With no parental influence, no hand to guide me, I wasn't entirely sure what I ought to think about. But the writers that were lower down told us stories, as writers do, but they were all the same. People fall in love, people get hurt. People focus on their choice, people live happily ever after. It was all very sweet. If you have writers as parents, perhaps you will understand my point when I say that there was no escaping the constant force of literature. Don't get me wrong, books are great. I love books. But imagine not even choosing what you could read, imagine being forced to read stories about these real people that were existing right now and imagine knowing their future before they even get the script. Imagine knowing that Angela Rhodes is about to lose her little son Tommy to her husband in the four year custody battle that neither of them wanted. Imagine knowing that Delilah Stevens was going to have to break up with sweet, sweet Dylan, in two days time, even though she loved him to pieces. Lucky girl. In case you have little imagination and simply can't ever imagine these scenarios, it's torture.
I never knew my parents, but I suppose this means that they wanted the best for me. They were actors. Well, they'd have to be, writers don't get the pleasures of family. When a child is born on set, as they call it, the parents are given a choice as to whether to keep this child and raise it until they're eighteen and then let their little kiddo choose whatever they want. "Little kiddo" normally chooses to be a writer. After all those years of acting, who wouldn't want a break? Of course, it's not non-stop acting: that would be ridiculous. You get ten minute breaks every hour or so.
Anyways, if said actor parents decide that they don't want this small screaming child, or they want it to make its own decision aged eighteen, they can hand it over to the directors, who find a suitable writer as a "warden". A warden's a bit like a foster parent in the way, except without the parent. They're more of a prison guard. But that doesn't matter anymore. Not today. Today is my choice. My last choice. My only choice. An actor? Or a writer? There's no way a director will be on the cards for me; I'm not nearly as intelligent as most of the others my age. That's OK though, I suppose. I wouldn't like to be held accountable for the whole population. I'd be bound to get something wrong.
I walk now, out of Lika Morning, my warden,'s home. She's alright, Lika, she doesn't blatantly ignore my existence, like Roald's warden. But, luckily, she doesn't hate the fact that I'm taking up space like Katelen's. I won't go into detail, for I believe I've given you detail enough. It doesn't take long to get to Malle's home, or rather her warden's home, since it's just on the next street. Lo, like Lika, is pretty decent. Actually she's more than that. She's like one of the mothers from the books that me and Katelen stole from the reference library that only writers are supposed to read. She cooks and cuddles, and is supportive of Malle, wants her to do well. I think Malle will stay, choose writer, if it means she can stay with Lo. Roald wants to be a director, but he's scared he'll fail the test and become an extra. He won't. Roald's clever. Really clever. Actually, I'm quite concerned that he might not even be human because he seems to have far too many braincells for an eighteen year old. Katelen will definitely choose to act, the further away she can get from her warden, the better. She told me so. I'll probably go with her. Writing isn't really my forte, Lika tried to teach me when I was fourteen, but I just couldn't get the words to flow like she could. Malle can write well though, even better than Lo. She's extraordinary. Neither of us are particularly bright, by standards, but we can do all the basics. Like reciting pi to its eighteenth digit. And working out the perimeter of countries with just a tape measure.
When I arrive, Malle's already outside, hopping from toe to toe and smiling wide. I make eye contact with her and she falls in pace with my walk.
"Today's the day."
"Glad to see you remembered."
We have this easy friendship, Malle and I. We know each other inside out, like she's just an extension of my brain. I like it. She's fun to be around, too. And kind. Just my kind of person. I'll miss her, once I'm gone. I could take the risk, if I really wanted to, and write. Maybe I could make it, maybe I wouldn't be cast out with my first failing script. But maybes are impossible; who knows how they'll conclude? So I'll take the easy road, I'll ride off into the sunset on some sort of pony, knowing that I'll never chose my tomorrow, but also knowing that I have the luxury of ten minutes of remembering who I am before I restart my charade. I'll live for the night times, also, when there is no script whatsoever and maybe I can look in the mirror and see the remnants of who I am now, in this moment. Thinking of positive things like that makes it seem almost possible to do this.
"Lei! Can you hear me?" Malle waves her hand across my face, stopping me in my tracks.
"Oh yeah, all of it, every word. Every letter, every syllable." I say dryly.
"You weren't listening, were you?"
"Nope." We're just around the corner from the hall where we'll do this insane ritual.
"Well that was plan A, and I was kind of hoping you wouldn't listen so I could do this, at least once."
I look at her, furrowing my brow. And then her hand is on my cheek, and her lips on mine and she's kissing me and I'm kissing her and- fuck. Does this mean..? Nevermind.
Then she stops and I'm stood there gaping, wide-eyed.
"Hear me now, Lei?"
I nod, slightly stunned.
She looks down, biting her lip, before running away. I watch her braid swing as she whirls around the corner. Checking my watch and seeing that I've got forty five minutes until the ceremony, I sink down onto the floor against the wall. Damn it. Damn it, damn it. I sit here, crying, for what feels like an eternity and I think I could stay here forever, never choosing, never really living. It wouldn't make much difference. But all good crying sessions must come to an end, and it was time to move on. With my head up high and placing one foot after another, I walk into the hall and take my place next to Katelen.
"You OK, sweetie?"
I smile and nod at her, not trusting myself to lie.
"You?"
She looks me dead in the eye, as if she's tattooing her gaze on my soul. She does that, sometimes.
"Same as you, I reckon."
She takes my hand and squeezes it.
"Young Ladies and Gentlemen! I cannot thank you enough for attending today!" Yeah right, like we had a choice. "To choose your life is a great privilege, one that will influence your life forever," I take deep breaths, because I'm terrified that I might forget to breathe any minute. The man previously speaking, a writer, lifts his hands into the air and three screens slide down, showing our options. "Now, you know how this works, so let it begin!" He strides off stage, looking smug. As if we were puppets, all of the choosers stand in unison and begin to file down to the stage, faces stoic and emotionless. I look out for Malle as subtly as I can, but her blonde hair escapes my view.
Reaching the stage, Katelen reaches for my hand and squeezes it. I squeeze back halfheartedly, nervous and terrified and wishing that I wasn't so jumpy. With a shuffling of feet and only one injured toe, all of us present ourselves in alphabetical order. Malle should be a couple of people behind me, and she is. I desperately attempt to catch one of her amber eyes in one of my own dull, grey ones. My efforts fail.
It feels like any other day, with the exception of ten times more sweat, and a friend that kissed me. I'm nervous, but this procedure is so remarkably similar to being registered for the school day that I'm almost tempted to laugh. We're apparently a very efficient society, and that theory could be proved by the speed that it takes for the queue to reach me. Glancing to my right, I see Katelen smiling at me, sat in position as a newly recruited actor. I know that it's there that I have the highest chance of survival. But there, I'll never see Malle again. But there, I'm trapped. And I choose it anyway.
My hand rises to the screen and before you could say "ten green kettles" (or whatever that old rhyme was) my finger has found the word act, pressed it, and fallen back down to my side. I breathe in, unsure whether I'm relieved or full of regret. Katelen's beckoning me over, and I walk, almost zombie-like, over to her.
"Congratulations!" An enthusiastic young woman cries, crushing me with a hug. "Welcome to the rest of your life."

A/N-
well shit. I suppose this lowkey sucks but don't stop reading because every read, every vote, and every comment means the world to me! *jake peralta voice*: cool cool cool cool cool. over and out for now. love, erin.