I am not the director.
I am not the author.
I am not a character.
I am not even an actor in this play titled My Life.
I am simply an observer who knows every line.
I look on from behind the eyes of a stranger I had never thought could ever be created.
I laugh, I cry, I clap at the right moments with the rest.
Truth be told it raises no emotion inside me.
I close my eyes; shut my eyes when I know the scenes will show only the ugly truth.
I sink into my seat slowly, hiding for I know that as the last act was one of joy this one was not.
Near the end I am drawn in.
I lean up in my seat and wait in silence with my heart beating rapidly.
I want to know.
I need to know,
How My Life ends.
Will it be one of Shakespeare’s tragedies, one of Aristophanes’ comedies, one of Vonnegut’s satires or one of Disney’s fairytales?
It is here…the end.
Darkness enfolds me as the curtains close.
Around me a sea of people give the play a standing ovation.
I sit there, stunned, unable to comprehend.
I want to jump to my feet and shout.
But I don’t.
Instead I sit back, take a deep breath, close my eyes and start writing an ending to this wonderful unique play titled My Life.